


ne me quitte pas

by SeeCee



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Peter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Mpreg, Mutual Pining, Omega Edmund, Pregnant Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-10-30 22:32:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10886268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeCee/pseuds/SeeCee
Summary: Peter and Edmund were separated after Edmund's first heat, now they meet again.





	1. et le temps perdu

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seraphicLioness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphicLioness/gifts).



> This is just some silly, fun stuff. Or it was supposed to be and then a plot somehow made its way in here.  
> Anyway, I kind of know where this is going, however, I'm afraid there won't be all too regular updates.  
> Do enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> work and chapter titles taken from Jacques Brel's 'ne me quitte pas'

When his first heat hit, Edmund had been barely thirteen.

It was a humid Friday morning – all members of the Pevensie family in various stages of getting dressed and ready, Peter and their father eating toast and sharing the morning paper, mother rummaging in the pantry, the noise of running water caused by Susan's showering, Lucy not seen but still habitually heard – one moment Edmund, still in shirt and boxers, had reached up into the cupboard to retrieve a pack of Coco Pops and in the next second a trail of slick crept almost imperceptibly down his crack, dripped and dampened the cloth. He froze mid-movement. A startled moan escaped his already heating lips. Then, a racket of splintering wood and smashed cutlery as the breakfast table hurled against the opposite wall. The last thing Edmund saw was Peter's intense gaze, closing in on him, his body already hurtling itself onto its prey, his father's shocked, too-short grab for his eldest, before the fever washed over him, blurring the memories into a haze.

 

He awoke from his stupor a week later.

Peter was gone.

The only explanation Lucy and him received on the few times they asked, was that Peter had gone to live in the country with their uncle. That it was normal and natural for him to have left, since having him and their father, as two alphas, so close together would have eventually broken the family apart.

Holding her head sideways, Lucy huffed frustrated, sensing that there were answers to questions neither of them knew how to put. Edmund never pushed the topic. He just sighed over the empty, spare bed in his room and tried to accept.

 

 

/////

 

4 years later.

 

He's on his way to meet with his study group, when he glimpses that nice, little coffee shop. His belly rumbles unhelpfully and with a quick stutter in his stride, he adjust his direction, pushing the door open and getting in the moderately long line. They've got these crispy cream cakes again, he notices happily and slings his bag pack off his shoulder to rummage for his wallet. The line is moving as he adds up what he'll need for change if he gets a Frappuccino, as well. Then suddenly, there is a  _smell._ Keeping his head low, Ed carefully glances around. He's read in a magazine once that when Omegas notice an attractive scent, they shouldn't act to obvious about it and let the alpha keep guessing about potential interest in order to ignite their innate drive for hunting. He spots a group of betas, an alpha sunk in a newspaper next to them, two omegas with a beta, a group of business men, all alphas. No use he'll have to take a better sniff in order to determine where it came from. There is only one more person in front of him, so he does it as he steps forward. Again, there it is. Edmund turns nonchalantly around, making sure to keep his chin up this time and then finally, there by a window seat, he must have smelled Edmund too because their eyes meet and-

“Peter,” Ed hears himself say.

 

Everything feels frozen in time but Edmund is sure, he  _knows_ it's him, it's his brother, his Peter. There is recognition on his face, too, and Ed doesn't know what to do, hasn't ever imagined what to say, still he wants, he needs-

“Sir?” Comes the insistent, slightly annoyed voice of the cashier. “Sir, you're next. What is your order, please?”

Fumbling, Ed turns back around and steps up to the counter. “The crispy Frappu- I mean the-”

_Peter, Peter, Peter,_ is ringing through his head, he wants to look behind him again, make sure he's still there, not leaving again, please don't leave again. The coins clutched so tightly a moment ago now clatter onto the counter.

“One Chocolate Frappuccino, one crispy cream cake, please,” Peter steps up, tall and impressive next to him, his eyes trained on the suddenly submissive cashier, who immediately scurries to comply.

“That's what you wanted, right? I haven't got it wrong?” Finally Peter turns with a warm smile to him, Edmund feels his emotions shaking.

“I- “ He breathes out, too stunned for any attempt at coherency. “Yes. I,.. yes.”

“Good,” he says with that smile. “Do you have time? Will you come sit with me?”

Edmund only nods in response, quite unable to look away from his brother's eyes, even when the cashier returns with the order and gives him his total.

 

Peter leads him with a small press to his back. Then they settle, opposite from each other, on two high stools, able to watch the passersby comfortably.

“Well, how are you?” Peter asks, a hint of what might be nerves in his voice. 

Edmund can't blame him, he feels the weird and awkward atmosphere engulfing him, too. He clenches his hand into his pants and puts on a determined smile.

“Just fine, thank you.”

“Good to hear that, wonderful, great.”

“And you?”

“Oh, quite all right, perfectly fine, even.”

“That's good to hear, too. Great, yeah.”

They exchange two tight-lipped, nondescript smiles and then both grab for their drinks. Just as they both hold it to their lips, their eyes meet and they both can't help the laughter.

“Why is this so bloody awkward?” Peter questions.

“It's ridiculous,” Edmund agrees and rolls his shoulders back.

For another second Peter regards him merrily before ultimately taking a sip after all, putting the cup away and rubbing his palms over his trousers.

“So, tell me about yourself,” he urges. “You're still in school? Any hobbies?”

“What is this, a bloody date?” Edmund jokes. “Of course I'm still in school, where the hell else would I be.”

“Last time I checked you were still a major trouble-maker. How many warnings had you gotten for mischievous behaviour? Five?”

“Ah,” he makes a dismissive gesture. “I've long since mended my ways. No more threats of expulsion for me.”

Peter laughs good-naturedly. “How come?”

“Well, Father drilled into me that there aren't many grand options available for disobedient, drop-out omegas and- “

Like a shock, Edmund remembers who he's talking to and what the reason for those four years of non-communication were but Peter still looks joyful and serene at him.

“And what?” he urges.

“And I... I'm nothing if not sensible and sane,” he finishes.

“Yeah, right,” Peter gives him a look, then takes another sip.

“So why, I mean, where- What have you been doing lately?” Edmund tries to sound nonchalant and hides his curiosity behind breaking off a piece of his cream cake and putting it in his mouth.

Peter slightly shifts in his seat, his gaze moves out into the street.

“Well, after staying with Uncle Digory for a year I went to College and- “

“Where?” Edmund interrupted.

“King's.”

Edmund's hand stopped halfway to his mouth.

“King's College?”

“Yeah.”

“King's College, London?”

“Yes, Edmund.”

For a flutter of a second he felt horribly betrayed and had to look away from Peter. If he'd been here, all this time, then why- Suddenly, a hand lands on his shoulder.

“I'm sorry I didn't come see you,” he says quietly, the earnestness shimmering in his eyes.

Edmund puts another bite into his mouth, trying to stop feeling so silly.

“What are you studying then?”

“Business, which I'm currently finishing up.”

“Oh, that's- that's incredible. I'm proud of you, I guess.”

Peter dimples shyly. “Thank you,  _I guess_ .”

“You already know where you'll go next?”

“I'll stay here, actually. I have an employment offer at- Well it's a big firm.”

“Nice.”

“You should be done soon, as well, shouldn't you?”

“Yeah, one more month, I'm currently in the middle of studying for my finals,” he offers, grimly thinking about his friends probably already blowing up his phone with texts.

“And afterwards?”

“Well, I'll probably go to St. Damian's.”

“Why that one? It's pretty Humanities oriented, isn't it? I thought you were interested in Law or Politics.”

Edmund shrugs. “It's close to home, you know.”

“Don't tell me you're such a cheapskate you want to save having to pay your own expenses?” Peter accuses with a joking undertone.

“No,” Edmund negates, pulling a face. “It's more that I have no other option. Unless, I wanted to get married, I suppose.”

Quickly, Peter sobered up.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, mother and father decided that I can't possibly live on my own, or even in a shared flat. They think it's too dangerous.”

“That's- I'm sorry, Ed.” Peter said unhelpfully. “That blows.”

In lieu of an answer, he just shrugs and finishes his Frappu in one long gulp.

There's a moment of silence between them with Peter studying Edmund and Edmund pretending neither to notice nor particularly care.

When he looks down to his bagpack he sees it faintly vibrate so he reaches down and gets his phone out. As expected: 35 new texts, 6 unanswered calls. Geez, he's hardly twenty minutes late.

“Need to be somewhere?”

“Oh, no,” with a faint blush, Edmund clicks it shut again. “Well, actually... I was meant to meet up with my study group...”

“I see,” Peter smiles, not quite as brightly. “I suppose you should go, then?”

“No, it's fine, really. It doesn't matter if I don't go.”

“Right,” Peter says, turns bodily away from him and empties his own coffee. Then he slides off his chair. With a little rasp and a hand through his hair, he looks back. “It was great seeing you again, Ed, and-”

“I could come back tomorrow,” he interrupts hastily. “Or- or the day after that or next week or-”

“Ed,...”

“I just don't want this to be- Can't I see you again? Please? I won't tell Mother and Father, I promise.”

Peter searches his face for a long, long moment. There seem to be cautions and questions running behind his pupils.

_Why I don't call them Mum and Dad anymore? Can you really not guess?_

Peter releases a hard gush of breath and says then: “Okay. Next week, same time?”

“Yes!” Ed beams and charms a similar expression from his brother.

 

Quickly, they both get their things in order and are ready to leave.

“Where are you off to from here?”

“Just down two streets from the right, why, where are you headed?”

“Opposite direction,” Peter laments.

Edmund gives him a queer look.

“Just because I'm an Omega doesn't mean-”

Peter holds his hands up. “I just thought we'd have a bit more time, that's all.”

“Oh,” Edmund says. “Well, I gotta run to the loo first, anyway, so... see you next week.”

Peter makes a half-abortive motion to... hug? But then seems to think better off it and just nods.

“See you next week.”

Edmund can feel his face heating up so without further ado he makes a beeline for the toilettes, hoping Peter will, in fact, not wait around for any further awkward goodbyes.

 

Having blissfully relieved himself, Edmund zips up his pants and shuffles to the basin. He spares a moment to look at his still flushed expression. Unbelievable, that his body would embarrass him so, just because Peter was an Alpha and wanted to initiate skin contact. He huffs at himself annoyed, then tries to squirt soap onto his hand. Empty. He takes a step over to the basin with no mirror but a decent amount of soap left. The door to the shop opens and someone comes in, Edmund resolutely keeps his head down and withstands the temptation to look whether or not Peter's still waiting for him.

He rinses his hands completely and grabs already for the green paper towels before he realizes, whoever had just gotten in, hasn't entered any stall and is instead looming behind him. Edmund means to turn around but instantly a weight from behind presses him against the marble. His instincts tell him to shout, struggle, do some- that scent again.

“ _Pe- Peter_ ,” he squirms out breathlessly. 

The only answer he gets is a low growl, accompanied by Peter's hands fisting themselves into Edmund's shirt, right over his hips and Peter's nose pressing itself against his neck. In barely suppressed panic, Edmund grips the basin's edge and lets Peter do, cursing all the while his omega genes, already getting him excited by all this closeness and dominance. This is his brother, his  _brother._

Suddenly, Peter's hands travel beneath the hem and back up, until his arms engulf Edmund's naked torso completely, making it entirely impossible for him to flee, then his- his hard erection rubs itself against Edmund's waist.

Edmund is that close to whimpering out loud, when Peter opens his mouth and threatens Edmund's skin at the juncture of his shoulder, and he actually does. High-pitched and needy it rushes out.

“ _Peter- Peter, stop, please,”_ he whines, frightened by his own reaction.

In an entirely too controlled manner, Peter slowly loosens the hold he has on his younger brother and steps back.

Edmund doesn't dare turn around, he just listens to the deep breaths that Peter takes and the rustle of fabric as his brother-  _adjusts himself_ , he thinks mortified.

“See you next week,” Peter says one last time, way too husky. 

Edmund trembles still but nods visibly. The door opens, noise spills in momentarily and drowns out again. Peter is gone.

 

He gets out of there as calm and steady as he manages but he still notices the Alphas throughout the coffee shop following his exit interested.

Edmund clutches the straps of his backpack as he swiftly makes his way to finally get to the library. Ducking his head to hide his shame-flushed face, he thinks about the importance of scent-marking, the necessity of it, between family members.

 


	2. l’ombre de ton ombre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took a whole month for the next chapter I really didn't mean that to happen! (but I also started my B.A. thesis, so... maybe that'll happen again...)  
> I will try my best tho, so please enjoy!

“I think it's completely unfair,” Lucy pouts, diligently applying NovaRed onto Susan's fingernails.

“It'll be your turn next year,” Edmund chuckles, diligently braiding Susan's still moist hair.

“Next year, next year,” she parrots. “You've got three whole months off until you start Uni. Three months! So unfair.”

“Oh it won't be half that time before Ed will waste away of boredom, just you wait,” Susan twinkles but it doesn't placate their little sister at all. 

“You're one to talk,” she accuses. “Do you students even have class, at all?”

Now both her older siblings laugh at her until Lucy swats her so she'll keep still, which makes Susan flinch, causing Edmund to accidentally pull her hair.

“Speaking of students,” Susan continues, making a grimace. “When exactly do you plan to tell Mum and Dad that you won't be going to St. Damian's?”

“Uhh... soon. Before I start, probably. When I've graduated at the latest.”

“You should just get it over with,” Lucy recommends.

“If you need us, you know we'll be there.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says fondly, puts the hair tie in and moves up behind Susan until she can lean against him and he can close his arms around her, holding her fast.

For a comfortable while they huddle in silence, Ed's face pressed against Susan's shoulder where he revels in the mixed smells of pyjama, freshly shampooed hair, and scrubbed skin – all together creating the warmth and safety of Susan. Instinctively, she reaches her other, manicure-less hand back to scratch Edmund's scalp.

“I've been thinking of inviting Peter,” he mumbles.

Both his sisters look up, meeting their gazes instead of his but he can still read Lucy's.

“Have you now?” Susan asks with a cautious undertone of forced neutrality.

“I think it'd be grand,” Lucy says on the other hand, trying kinda hard for cheerful.

Edmund understands, he does because two months ago after he'd met Pete again, he immediately went to his sisters' room, where Lucy was doing homework and climbed onto Susan's bed. Lucy sensing his turmoil shot a quick text to their older sister and then lay down with Edmund. It took Susan only half an hour, and three minutes with their surprised parents because they hadn't expected Susan to visit until the weekend, before she, too, joined their heap.

Edmund told them what had happened – except for the moment in the bathroom – and together they were distressed and agitated since Edmund smelled so much like a strange Alpha but also elated and joyous because of course they had missed their brother terribly these last years. They decided not to tell the parents and always eagerly waited for Edmund to come back after each meeting and recount the whole thing in great detail while they soaked up, as well as effectively over-masked, Peter's clinging scent.

It's so obvious that they would love to see him again but as Betas they crave harmony among the family more than anything else and they sense the tension Peter's return could bring. On the other hand was of course the fact that they couldn't just accompany Edmund because social calls could only be initiated by Alphas. As long as Peter wouldn't explicitly tell Edmund to bring their sisters along they would never dare and Edmund would never be so brusque as to suggest.

“Yes,” he says slowly. “I think I will.”

 

“ -so I squeezed the bottle, unfortunately a bit harder than intended, and the whole stuff bursts out, covering him from head to toe, like completely! His hair and suit, the twenty photocopies in his hands, he looked like a wet fucking sewer rat,” Peter recounts, barely able to get through without laughing himself.

Edmund, very unattractively, guffaws. So much that his sides start aching and tears spring up in his eyes. Still, he can't stop and Peter shakes, too, laughing and grinning.

“And that's the story of how I fucked up my work mates whole day, two minutes before the most important presentation of his life.”

“Hoooo my God,” Edmund still wheezes. “You absolute bastard. I would have killed you.”

“That's exactly how he looked at me, too, so I just mumbled like 'sorry' and legged it. It's been four days and I still haven't seen him again.”

“He's hatching a plan of brutal revenge. Including shovels, a patch of loose ground and an open casket.”

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Peter grins with the carefree expression of someone who's never been afraid of anything in his entire life.

Edmund shakes his head at his idiot brother and takes a sip of his hot chocolate. Peter watches him fondly but then he gazes down at the assortment of cakes and pastries he's bought for himself.

“Phew, I think I've bought too much, all this laughing filled my stomach. Would you take some?”

Edmund gives him a tight-lipped but not unamused expression. This is the third time Pete's been pulling this scheme.

“You really don't need to do that.”

“Humour me,” he shrugs.

Edmund regards him for another moment but he's always been too much of a sweet tooth to resist such an offer for long.

“All right, but you pick one first.”

Peter's smile widens, so he complies wordlessly. Edmund has the inkling that Peter really couldn't care less about eating any of these, he just knows Edmund loves them and he wants to... words like make him happy, feed him, or show that he can provide, come to mind, closely followed by: signs someone may be courting you and he has to quench those ludicrous thoughts right away.

But ever since they've been regularly meeting once a week and always in this coffee shop with the amazing food options, Edmund had to be careful not to overindulge himself. He only had a set amount of pocket money and there was no way he would ask his parents for more, in case they'd use that as fodder for another reason Edmund can't be allowed to move out. So, he allows himself one fancy drink or pastry each week, while not being able to avoid longing glances for whatever he didn't afford.

Peter noticed very quickly but instead of asking Edmund outright he simply started buying a ton of biscuits solely for Edmund's perusal, pretending Edmund was doing him a favour by relieving Peter off them. Edmund feels all sorts of warm around the heart whenever he thinks about this.

“How did you manage to pay for yourself during Uni?” he wonders then. “If it's okay to ask. Did you have a part-time job or something?”

“I did, actually,” Peter nods. “But that alone wouldn't have been enough. Not in a place like London. Uncle Digory helped me out, paid the most of my expenses actually.”

“Oh.”

Of course. Their uncle had made his fortune in... he doesn't really know actually. He's a professor of some sort, was always travelling all over the world, and a pretty important person. They never saw him much but the memories he has are fond.

“I was lucky that he was so understanding and made sure that I was cared for,” Peter continues but his voice takes on a saddened tone. “Still, it was a pretty miserable year.”

“I wished,” Ed, in a terrible moment of thoughtless honesty, says, “every night, I wished I could come and stay there with you.”

Peter looks up with a bit of wonder in his eyes, then he reaches out, strokes a crump from the corner of Edmund's mouth and tucks a dark lock behind his ear.

“Yeah, I wished so, too.”

Edmund feels his heart rate picking up again and swallows.

“Pete, I... I wanted to ask you-,” Peter sits back and the hand leaves Edmund's face, he has to force himself not to strain his neck and move after it- “Why haven't you asked me to bring Susan and Lucy, yet? Don't you want to see them?” The Omega part in him shrivels on the ground at the audacity, so he quickly adds, “If it's not too forward to ask. I'm sorry.”

“It's okay, you don't need to apologize,” he says and then gazes out into the street, heaving a thoughtful sigh. “When I had to leave home... Our parents and I didn't exactly part on good terms, they basically forbade me to ever contact any of you again. I would very much like to see them but I haven't asked to because I don't want to get them inadvertently in trouble.”

“But getting me in trouble, would be okay?”

“Seeing you again was a lucky coincidence.”

“You could have just not come back when you promised you would.”

“Well, Ed,” he begins and his eyes flash with a threat hidden behind amusement, “maybe it's time for you to realize that I'm, as is every other Alpha you'll ever meet, very, very selfish.”

Edmund feels a wave of heat wash over him but he stays perfectly still.

“And so, I also have something I would like to ask you, although I had meant to play it off as nothing but a generous offer, a modest suggestion, no more.”

His eyes drill themselves into Edmund, who can't say anything.

“Would you like to move in with me?”

Edmund's eyes grow huge, his mouth opening in surprise.

“I- Seriously?”

“Yes, in fact, I've been thinking for a while now whether you couldn't set up a meeting between our parents and me so I could show them who I've become and maybe let their reservations about my character vanish again. But most importantly I want them to trust me with you, so I could offer you the freedom you so wish for. Of course you still wouldn't live on your own but I promise I wouldn't attempt to intrude on or control any part of your life.”

“Can you hug me, please?” Edmund's high voice rings through, his body taut and curling itself together in order to contain his happiness.

“Of course,” Peter assents, a bit bewildered but opens his arms and pulls him close. Immediately, Edmund presses his face to Peter's neck, nuzzling it gratefully, his hands put against Peter's chest.

“Is that a yes?” Peter chuckles, close by his ear.

“That is a 'You've just made me very happy and I will immediately go tell the parents that you'll come by and run the idea by them so that I have news for you by next week.'”

“That's not necessary, you've still got time before Uni starts, you should think it over.”

Edmund shakes his head, rubbing his chin against Peter's shirt.

“I don't need to.”

“Fine,” Peter laughs, “But I won't be here next week, I have a business trip coming up, so at least you don't need to rush.”

“You won't be here?”

“I'm sorry.”

“No, that's- okay, of course, that's okay.”

Peter looks at him.

“We could exchange phone numbers if you'd like.”

Edmund doesn't waste time answering that and instead gets his phone out, unlocks it and thrusts it at his amused brother.

 

Instead of sharing in the giddy happiness he had felt for the last three hours since parting with Peter, Susan looks rather... concerned. Lucy, gaze helplessly jumping from one sibling to the other, finally settles for a tentative, “that sounds really nice, Ed.”

“Are you... sure about this?” Susan asks.

“Of course!” Edmund answers with all the conviction he can fake because Susan is the most reasonable person he knows and if she has immediate reservations then maybe he isn't sure about this at all.

“And how exactly do you plan to... I mean? Do you honestly think our parents can be in any way convinced to allow this?”

“I'm almost 18, they can't decide for me for the rest of my life.”

Susan looks at him pityingly, which makes him pout.

“And when do you think you'll move out?” Lucy asks.

“Well, first of all, I'll ask them to invite Peter, so we'll grow together as a family again and when they see what a great person he's become they won't even think of keeping me here when I could be safe with Peter instead.”

Now Lucy's staring with pity, too, causing his pout to grow an additional scowl.

“You should really, _really_ think this properly through, Ed,” Susan says then, “And if you still want to do this, then Lucy and I will of course talk to them with you.”

“Thank you,” he says and means it, “but I won't hide behind my Beta-sisters, I'm my own, independent Omega, I'll stand up for myself and make them realize that I will no longer tolerate this ridiculous helicoptering of me!”

Both his sisters try to go for a smile but only manage a long sigh through their noses. They've heard this only one million times before.

 

A week later he makes a tentative, totally non-suspicious comment about how one of his teacher's had lauded Edmund's leaving certificate, hoping he will use it to enter a fitting University so he can make full use of his intellectual abilities.

“St. Damian's is fitting,” his father comments from behind the newspapers. His mother skilfully pretends to be too occupied with the roast to have listened. Lucy gives him an unhelpful shrug.

Fed up and heaving a gigantic sigh Edmund trots upstairs only to faceplant onto his bed. He mutters annyoed into the mattress and then retrieves his phone from his pants.

He unlocks it to the familiar and still well-loved picture of Susan, Lucy and him in front of  _Manneken Pis_ two years ago. Then he opens his contacts and stares at Peter's phone number, long enough that the screen dims and threatens to blacken three times.

He just can't bring himself to click dial so he thumbs over to messages.

 

_How's business going_

 

He taps and deletes the question mark all of five times before just hitting send and yanking both his arms under his body, letting the phone quick-drop onto the mattress. Still, he stares at it expectantly until deciding to just mash his face into the soft sheets repeatedly.

 

_The people we're supposed to negotiate with have postponed for the second day in a row. I went to a wind chime museum today._

 

_What the fuck._

 

_You try finding something to do in Arse End Nowhere._

 

Edmund grins in delight, pressing his phone screen to his forehead and then, annoyed, rubs his grease into the mattress. His fingers flit over the screen, typing out sentiments that he deletes just as quickly.

 

_Can I call you?_

_I walked into the coffee shop today and didn't realize._

_I'm really starving for some crispy crème cakes and I'm totally blaming you._

_A wind chime museum probably isn't so bad if I could go with you._

_Arse End Nowhere is too far away._

_Come back soon._

_I miss you._

 

In the end, his cheeks burn too terribly and he has these sudden heart palpitations again that he should probably get checked out, asap.

 

_I almost bought you a postcard today._

 

_Why didn't you_

 

_Because I wouldn't be able to send it._

 

_You could have send it to my future apartment. Btw, I've thought about it again and I cannot, with a clear conscience, move into a place I haven't even seen yet._

 

_Understandable._

 

_So invite me._

 

_Would you like to see my place?_

 

_When_

 

_As soon as I'm back._

 

_I'll have you know I'm a terribly busy person and can't possibly be at your beck and call whenever you feel like it._

 

_:)_

 

No other messages follow and Edmund is in too much of a state to come up with any further sane statements so he pre-emptively goes to take a shower. Once he exists in a billow of steam, towel around hips and shoulders, he sees his phone blinking.

 

_I'm going to steal you away._

 

His mother and Susan have told him often enough not to turn the water heat up so much when he's showering, it just leaves you dizzy and too hot all over.

 

But Edmund has no need of seeing Peter's flat before being able to decide so without further ado and many, many (hyperventilating) breaths, he stalls after dinner the next evening and asks his parents to sit down with him. They throw each other tight-lipped glances but do so, even if they're barely making an effort to hide their disinclination. His father doesn't even turn his body towards Edmund but to the living-room and his TV.

“I know we've talked about this a lot already and you're probably really tired of it by now so, first thing's first, I don't want to start a discussion again. I just want to... I am telling you that I won't be going to St. Damian's. I've accepted the place at Imperial instead.”

“Oh, Edmund,” his mother immediately sighs, disappointment heavy in her voice.

All his senses tell him to cower but even if his metaphorical tail is tucked between his legs, he keeps his chin up and eyes level.

His father purses his lips, he's not looking at his son and instead acting as he was dealing with an unruly, unreasonable toddler.

“So, you're _telling_ us this. Then how, pray tell, do you plan on paying for it?”

“I'll find a part-time job, apply for stipends.”

“Seems like you really thought about this,” his father remarks sarcastically. “Edmund, I don't think I need to tell you that neither of these options is very likely to work out. You want independence, to prove you're an adult but you're only showing me how immature you still are and I'm not going to reward this behaviour by paying for it.”

“I'm not asking you to pay!”

“Not yet.”

Edmund has to blink back tears of frustration. Of course he knows being an Omega puts him automatically at a disadvantage in probably any aspect of his life, except for being a desirable mate, but he wants more from life than being someone's stay-at-home husband and he just wishes that once, only once, his own father would support and believe in him.

“Why hasn't Peter come home, yet? Why hasn't he ever visited?” he asks instead, pitiful and petulant.

The satisfaction of the surprised look they exchange lasts only a moment. Tension rumbles into his father's shoulders.

“Your brother has been living in America for three years now. He's a successful banker by now and I suppose already found a new family.”

Edmund is astounded more than angry at this blatant, deliberate lie.

“We don't talk to him very often either but he sounds very happy,” his mother adds, careful.

“You don't even know, do you?” Edmund asks into all that open space that's building between them. “Where your own son is. Why would you say that. And why do you insist that you only want what's best for me when you could so easily just abandon one of your own children. I've never even asked Peter what he did but I do know that he's better off without either of you!”

Instead of the expected – his father grabbing him by the neck and shaking him like an unruly pup – they sit there stunned and... hurt?

“You've spoken to him?” His mother asks toneless. 

“I... yeah. Yes.”

Her eyes grow huge and a bit wet and Edmund feels like shit all of a sudden.

“You are right,” His father interjects gruffly. “We don't know where he is, how he's doing and maybe he is better off without us but... don't think we send him off easily or happily. Or that we never think about him anymore. Peter is still our son.”

Edmund takes a shaky breath.

“He would like to come home. He misses you and Susan and Lucy. He misses home, he would like to visit.”

Neither his parents reply to that, instead they both look forlornly at nothing. In the middle of the air between them, their hands find each other. It's now or never, he thinks.

“And I... Well, Peter offered...,” he gulps, “I'm going to move in with him.”

That brings them quickly out of their reverie.

“No,” his father says, releasing his mother's hand and getting up.

“But I-”

“Edmund, I said no!” he snaps and then stares him down until Edmund can't fight it anymore and looks away first.

“You may not understand this and think it's unfair or cruel but your mother and I love you more than anything else in the world and we've promised ourselves to protect you, even against yourself.”

“I don't need protection!” He argues feebly, already knowing he lost again.

“I will call St. Damian's tomorrow and fix this and you-,” he says with emphasis, “-are not going to see your brother ever again. Understood?”

“You can't keep me from my own family!”

“Fine, you're grounded and forbidden to leave the house without company.”

“You can't do that!”

The last thing Edmund experiences his this full-body shiver as his father trains his alpha gaze onto him, forcing him to submit. He lets out a last hurt whimper and then slinks upstairs.

Susan and Lucy are huddled atop, already opening their arms to him but their father calls them both down and Edmund hides in his bedroom instead. Too crushed to cry, too angry to shout, he shakily dials Peter instead.

“Hey,” Peter answers and even through the artificial static his voice sounds warm and fond.

Edmund's breath hitches.

“Ed?” Immediately he sounds concerned, there's a bit of rustling as if he'd been lying down and sits up now, “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

Edmund holds the phone away as he sniffs once and swallows the lump in his throat.

“I'm sorry but I've thought about it again and maybe living together isn't the best idea,” he forces out and then his voice breaks again, “I'm sorry.”

On the other end Peter is really quiet. A few controlled breaths and then his voice comes through again, low and dangerous, “Did he hurt you?”

Edmund can't answer because his throat keeps closing up, making his lungs stutter painful.

“Edmund, are you hurt? Did he hurt you?”

“No. No, I'm fine. Father didn't do anything. I'm okay.”

A relieved gush of breath runs out of Peter but his voice is still angry, urgent somehow.

“Stay in your room, get Lucy to bring you something to drink. I'll sort this out.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“I'll take care of this, Ed,” he says and hangs up.

Edmund stares at his phone, at Peter's name a moment longer before putting it away and scrubbing at his puffed-up face.

 

It's three hours later, the middle of the night, Edmund, guarded and warmed between Susan and Lucy, wakes startled. There are loud noises coming from downstairs, voices arguing. Reassuring himself that neither of his sister's is gone, Edmund tries to disentangle himself. Before he gets even remotely off the bed, Susan grabs his wrist. Next to him Lucy stirs, too.

“What's wrong?” she mumbles.

“Peter's here, I think,” Susan answers.

“Peter?”

A quick jump and he's out of bed, yanking the door open and running to the stairs, his sisters, of course, right behind him.

“An unmated Omega and Alpha living together is absolutely out of the question! Even you must realize that!”

“He's my brother and I'm not some strange predator!”

“Peter,” his mother gasps.

“You're smothering him!” Peter accuses them. “You're deliberately keeping him small, he deserves better than this from his own parents!”

“I won't let you do this to him,” their father roars back. “You know full well this won't be tolerated and you're still willing to put him through that?”

“I don't care about any of that, all that matters is Edmund. You can't keep me away from him forever.”

The stair step creaks and all their heads swirl around, hefting Edmund to the spot. His parents look scandalized but Peter's face opens up. He takes a step towards him. Their father blocks him right away. They exchange mutinous looks, so without breaking eye contact, Peter addresses Edmund, “Get dressed, pack what you need.”

Their sisters let out a gasp that Edmund is too startled for but he only hesitates a second before bolting back to his room. He's a bit headless, grabs alternately for things to put on and things to put away, without making real progress. His sisters are immediately by his side, wordlessly helping him to get ready. They must be in absolute turmoil but not knowing what to do, they do the only thing they can: supporting Edmund. And he feels so tenderly for them, loves them so quietly and fondly that he takes this last second of suppressed panicky breathing with the other's still shouting and presses them both to his chest, smelling them deeply and reassuringly.

Then he leaves, takes the steps three at a time.

“I'm ready,” he declares breathless, moving towards Peter.

But his mother is suddenly there, grabbing him forcefully by the elbow. His father moves back, too, caging them both behind his back.

It takes only a second.

One moment Peter's furious eyes are reigned in by rationality and in the next instant they gleam with unleashed bloodlust. He growls at their father, his body shifting into Alpha mode, instinctively predatory, uncontrolled violence. Their father flinches, not immediately visible but enough to launch Peter forward. He kicks the couch table to the side, splintering it and crashing mother's favourite flower vase into the opposite wall. Unbothered, he advances on their father, his stride so sure, so volatile. Edmund knows it's only a matter of seconds before their father will experience real bodily harm, probably for the first time in his life. And it'll be because he stands between Peter and who he wants to protect; Edmund.

But then, their father's shoulders deflate and he takes a step to the side, revealing Edmund to Peter's egregious gaze. Both his parents are duly intimidated and finally,  _finally,_ they let Edmund go.

 

Peter takes both Edmund's bag and his hand, taking them outside to a sleek, shiny, black car and throws them inside. Hurriedly, Ed buckles his seatbelt, while Peter gets in on the driver side. He's not strapping in and all his movements are controlled but still Edmund sees the white knuckles, the hard set of his jaw, the burning hot anger in his eyes. So he keeps quiet and forces his hands to be still in his lap, lets Peter drive them off and away.

They're speeding, driving at least twenty km/h faster than allowed, the houses and street lamps blurring by. Ed should probably feel more scared than he does but he can't think of anything else but Peter, here in this car and next to him, in pained distress, in an alpha mode he apparently can't shake.

There's a traffic light ahead that's switches to amber, then red. Peter stops the car. It's an empty intersection, he could actually just keep driving but Peter's still gripping the wheel so tightly, staring ahead, angered breath erupting consistently. Edmund watches him, feeling small and unimportant, so he swallows and then reaches out.

“Peter?” 

His hand, that he meant to land reassuringly on Peter's arm, instead stops mid air. Their lips crash together. Peter holds him by the neck, kissing him so hard, he feels his heart lunge all the way into his stomach. There is a quick pain and the taste of copper. Then Peter stops, puts their foreheads together and breathes him in.

“Everything's okay now.”

The light switches back to green and Peter accelerates. Edmund only nods, mouth hanging open, dazzled and stunned silent.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I currently take no more prompts, for updates please consult pedmund.tumblr.com, thanks!


	3. je me cacherai là, à te regarder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could have probably finished this sooner but I've been binge watching Lost recently (I'm only at season 4, no spoilers please) do I feel guilty for slacking on the writing because of that? Abso-fucking-lutely nYES. I'm really sorry... I'm always complaining of having so much to do and then I dive head-first into another addiction, real classy.
> 
> Anywayyyyy, please enjoy

Peter loves to sleep in until 10am on weekends and trudges out of bed at 7am during work days, his hair a mess and a vocabulary consisting entirely of ghoulish moans. He drinks one cup of black coffee, sometimes with a strawberry jam toast, though usually he just gets something on his way to the firm. He set himself a fitness regime five years ago that he's still not managed to abide by but insists he does. When he comes home from work, 5.47pm sharp, he is tired like an old man and loves to complain about it. He is a diligent employee, who puts the time in without working over-hours, instead he brings stuff home, to which he will sit down after having had dinner (that he cooks himself, it's not half bad most of the time) and catching up on his favourite show of the season (It's dramas mostly, though he stomachs the occasional thriller as well).

These are all things Edmund is familiar with and still remembers well.

New additions include: Peter's at once deliberate dependence on Edmund to 1) make sure he actually gets out of the house on time (Edmund, often still in his peignoir smooths the last persistent cowlicks out of Peter's hair, presses the travel mug for the morning commute in his hand, straightens the tie out and sends him off before his own routine even starts) and 2) gets back into bed at a reasonable hour (Edmund routinely awakes for a midnight slouch to the loo, and when he sees the dim light in the home office is still on, he yawns a “Go the fuck to bed, Pete.”). There is more of course.

Peter has developed into a bit of a peacock, in the sense that he insists on using only a certain brand of shampoo, conditioner, and aftershave, which costs him roughly 75 bucks each month – which Ed gaped at and Pete airily dismissed. Not to mention the excessively expensive perfume he keeps hidden under the bathroom sink. Then there are his always neatly pressed suits, for which Edmund doesn't yet have any proof but he's kinda sure they're specifically tailored. Of course all this creates a handsome and indecently amazing smelling Peter but the expenses!

 

The point of finances also remains their sole point of friction. Contrary to what Edmund had feared in the few hour space of leaving the liminality of Peter's car, trailing him to the elevator, up to the 8 th floor, getting a one-word-at-a-time tour of the most basic rooms, and then being shown to the guest room – now Edmund's bedroom – and the few hours of too-anxious-to-actually-be-asleep until 6 when Pete's watch went off, I.e. being filled with uncertainty and dread of inevitable awkwardness that he had already hated when they'd met at that coffee shop again, was not actually happening. Getting accustomed to each other's presence and habits happened almost unnoticeably, there is no strangeness between them and no need to get used to each other's space, instead it's more like the diesel motor of a BMW 750, fully harmonious, purring like a cat.

Living with Peter then, turned out to be quite comely. But he's only been here for a month so he refrains from making any too final statements. As promised Pete lets him mostly be, he didn't put down any ground rules, there's no duty cycle for household chores, or curfews, or rent and living expenses agreement. Edmund is entirely free to do as he wants, to go, or stay where he wants, to lounge around and be lazy if he wants – naturally therefore, he keeps mainly indoors and does all the cleaning and cooking (he's kind of really bad at that, of which he is the most surprised by) and grocery shopping, and when Pete's home, Edmund sticks to him like a leech. They're all elbows and knees, when playing video games, they're mostly shoulders and thighs and occasional feet when watching the telly and sometimes they're even head and lap and Peter's soothing voice as he reads to him.

Still, Edmund is quickly becoming a quaint little housewife, which wasn't his plan at all but at the utter frustration of being unable to secure any sort of part-time job and therefore having no means of repaying Peter – regardless of the fact that Pete insists he doesn't need money from him, neither is keeping house something he expects in any form from Edmund – he does what he can to feel like less of a burden. It gnaws on him, though. He wishes it didn't. But it does.

And always Peter tries to reassure him that money really isn't something he needs to be worried about, that he has more than enough and is incandescently happy to be able to spoil his little brother. Then Edmund will give him a tentative smile, which he can never make convincing, and prompts only one reaction from Peter: a long, really tight hug. Much too close for an Alpha and Omega sibling relationship but it's not like Pete's never done that before, it's not like it doesn't feel good, it's not like Edmund doesn't cherish them like hell. Because they've been together for a month now and it's great, it's really great, but he has no idea if Peter is all he has left now because his parents don't try to reach out anymore and Edmund is too chicken-shit to pick up the damn phone himself so he just texts his sisters, who don't answer either. So sometimes, when Peter is out of the door and Edmund has no cleaning or cooking or fucking shopping to distract him, it gets to him and he has to lay down on the red pastel cashmere carpet in the middle of the grand living-room with its floor to ceiling windows and the couch table and 18 inch TV and stare at the stupid ceiling because all the other rooms are too damn constricting for him and his heaving ribcage. And while he hopes Peter doesn't actually notice and has thus one more bothersome point to tick off, Edmund is pretty sure he can't always hide his red eyes or puffy cheeks, especially when he catches Peter looking at him so concerned, especially when Peter hugs him so, especially when Peter tugs him close, rubs his back and kisses his temple and Edmund is so  _relieved_ , so thankful he turns all the way into Peter's arms and clings and clings and clings.

 

Then one day, he's busy clearing the dust from the ceiling corners, the doorbell goes. He stares dumbfounded down the hall at it, he's never heard it ring, before hopping down the step ladder.  
He opens the door, expecting a pedlar of some sort.

“Hello- ?”

“Edmund!”

Before he knows it, they pull him outside and hug him from both sides.

“Susan? Lucy? What are you doing here?”, he gasps out, holding onto every part of them he can reach.

“Oh, Edmund!”, Lucy says again, her face pressed hard into his back.

He can only see Susan's face, her eyes that grow quickly red of unshed tears but there is also this big, relieved smile, the same he can feel stretching out his own face.

Then she steps back, wipes her eyes carefully, lest she smudge her mascara and holds up a plastic bag.

“We've brought strawberries.”

He takes them inside the living-room, their eyes _oh_ and _ah_ a lot as they catch glimpses of the flat. Their bodies remain stiff as they move about and settle onto the couch, the smell of the place makes them uneasy, especially regarding the fact that they're here without the resident Alpha present.

“How did you find me?” Ed asks again as he gets out bowls and spoons and whipped cream.

“Peter stood outside my Uni yesterday,” Susan says.

“Peter?”

“Yeah, I don't know how long he must have been waiting there. He seemed to have come straight from work, was leaning against a black car, sunglasses on, sharp suit with the tie loosened just enough to give about half the student body a swooning attack.”

Edmund scowls. Peter had taken yesterday off, or at least yesterday morning. He hadn't said it but it was because Edmund had been especially morose, outright depressed. Peter had coaxed him only with difficulty out of bed but even then Edmund could only be persuaded to relocate onto the couch. There Peter then served him an assortment of breakfast options, that he hardly touched, snuggled him into a night blue blanket, put on various TV programs, hoping to get some sort of reaction from Edmund and finally sat down with him. He pillowed Edmund's head onto his lap, played with his hair and read Winnie The Pooh to him. Edmund's favourite book from childhood. He fell soon asleep again with the light scratch of Peter's fingers, the soothing rasp of his voice and the occasional rumble of his tummy digesting breakfast. It must have been somewhere around midday when Edmund woke up, still held by his big brother. Except, Peter had put the book away and while his hand still went through Ed's dark strands, it was just like the eyes gazing down onto him: unbearably tender.

Edmund felt the creeping embarrassment starting to stain his cheeks, so he rasped and slowly got upright again, wiping the drool of his cheek as well. He made some hoarse attempts at words to which Peter just smiled and then proposed Edmund should go take a hot shower or bath maybe, if he felt more like that. Peter was very sorry but something had come up, he needed to leave for a bit but he promised he'd come back with take-out, it shouldn't take longer than two hours tops. What would Edmund like?

 

“He seemed to be in a bit of a hurry anyway,” Susan continues, “He greeted me, polite as always, handed me a piece of paper with an address on it and said: I would like to invite both you and Lucy to my home, please come at your earliest convenience. Then he got back in his car and drove right off, I didn't even have time to answer.”

“When Susan later told me, we wanted to come right away but we could have never sneaked past Mum and Dad, so instead we figured we needed to get a hospitality gift anyway and here we are!”

“You're skipping classes.”

“Maybe,” Lucy grins, shoving a giant strawberry with an equally giant drop of whipped cream into her mouth.

“We meant to bring some of your other stuff as well, your phone charger and some clothes and stuff but Dad keeps checking, he even took our phones.”

“I was wondering whether you'd be mad at me since you never answered my texts.”

“Never, Ed! Mum and Dad seem to have the crazy idea that they could force you to come back by keeping all your stuff and of course, if you'd miss Lu and me enough.”

“We would have come earlier,” Lucy reiterates. “If we'd known where to go. Even if Peter hadn't invited us.”

To mask the very uncool outbreak of affection he feels right now Edmund stuffs down four berries at once.

 

The initial awkwardness of discomfort disappears as soon as Susan starts recounting her latest endeavours in dating. She'd been on no less than seven dates since Edmund moved out, owing that to wanting to distract herself of losing him but at the same time wanting to have new stories to tell him once she'd see him again. The stories she tells are all so unbelievably hilarious Lucy shrieks into a cushion, while Edmund stomps against the couch table in second-hand embarrassment, Susan again and again wipes her own tears away.

“It's no wonder so many Betas decide to stay single, there's just nothing out there for us!” She laments and effectively finishes. Both Lucy and Edmund are still heaving, wrecked with unending laughter.

Next, Edmund gives them a proper tour. As soon as he opens his bedroom door, the girls dart past him to throw themselves on his bed.

“Hey!” he admonishes mock-stern and gets knocked over by a pillow. It grows immediately into a full fledged battle and Edmund is ferocious and happy because the damn bed is ridiculously gigantic and soft and springy and - whack! Whack! - he gets attacked from both sides by shrieking harpies so he begs for mercy and flails off the bed and out the door, always pursued by the enemy until they're back in the living-room and he darts behind the couch. He has no ammunition left except for one little pillow so he braces himself, sticks his head out and Bam! Susan's aim was always excellent, she gets him right in the face.

“Surrender, I surrender!”

Exhausted and a bit sweaty they gather on the carpet, breathing and sharing space and Lucy tells them some rehearsal stories until they make her get up and practice her soliloquy in front of them, while Susan and Edmund share a bag of crisps and yell out remarks as if they were children at a puppet theatre. When Lucy is done they applaud her mightily, showering her with crumbs since they're all out of roses.

The time flies by and before Ed knows it five hours are past and Pete stands in the archway, looking down at them.

“We- welcome home!” Edmund stutters out perplexed.

“Hey,” Peter greets back and Edmund, a big smile stretching over his face, jumps up.

“How was your day? Are you hungry? I'm sorry I haven't prepared anything, somehow I forgot the time and-”

“Hi, Peter,” Lucy says, quieting Edmund in the process.

“Hey,” he says again.

“Hi,” Susan says, too.

Peter's eyes land on her, growing soft around the edges and to her, as well, he says, “Hey.”

It's uncomfortable, so uncomfortable! Ed doesn't know what to do, why is this suddenly so tense? Their sisters get up off the floor, Susan straightens out her skirt and Lucy checks her pony tail.

“Well, we'd better head out now.”

“It was nice seeing you again, Ed. You too, Peter.”

Not sure if he should ask them to stay, Edmund looks at Peter but he reaches for something in his jacket and then walks into the room, into their space, and holds out two packages to Susan.

“I wanted to give you these,” he says. Susan takes them hesitatingly. “They're nothing fancy but this way, at least, you'll be able to talk to one another.”

“Thank you,” she says, handing one of the packaged mobile phones to Lucy. “You shouldn't have.”

“I'm sure you've been as worried about Ed as he's been about you. Please accept them and come back here whenever you like.”

With that he dismisses himself to his room, leaving his siblings to see each other off. Edmund hugs them for a long time and only closes the door once he's seen the elevator reach ground floor, then he hurries to the big windows in the living-room and watches them walk down the street. There's a big, big smile right on his face.

“You're happy,” Peter comments as he steps next to Edmund, he's rolling his shirt-sleeves up, the tie is gone too.

“Thank you,” Edmund says, watching Susan and Lucy disappear behind a corner on the way to the bus station, then he turns to look up into Peter's face. “Thank you.”

Peter stops fiddling with the fabric, looks at him and reaches out to tuck away a stray lock.

“What would you like to have for dinner?”  
Ed can smell Peter's stupid expensive cologne and has to keep himself from pressing his nose to Peter's wrist.  
  
It doesn't take two days before he sees Lucy again, they meet up for hot chocolates during her recess. Which means they only have fifteen minutes but Edmund feels as refreshed and happy as if they had spend two hours together. 

Three days after that he meets both of them for a shopping afternoon. The next day he and Susan see a movie, Lucy joins them after rehearsals for dinner at  _Vapiani,_ their favourite Italian. Lucy comes over to work with him on his job applications, a day later Susan goes with him to various places to apply directly. Afterwards they doll themselves up a bit and go to a Karaoke bar where Edmund sabotages Susan by being a perfectly terrible wingman. Next day, with sunglasses on he meets Lucy for late brunch and gets laughed at a lot. The only consolation being that Susan is apparently worse off because she's been puking all night. Haha.

But even when they don't see each other for a couple of days they still constantly text and Edmund notices how much more relaxed he's become, how life looks good and positive again and although he's still saddened by his parents, it doesn't feel so desolate and crushing anymore. The reason for all this renewed happiness he naturally locates in Peter so to show his thanks, he watches a lot of food vloggers and buys unnecessary amounts of recipe books in the hopes they will magically transform him into an amazing cook, or a good one at least. Or just somewhat decent, even, that's all he asks for really, he thinks as he looks at the third batch of muffins he's burned in a row.

Also there is this other thing: Touching.  
It's not like it's new, Pete's been literally doing it since day one. Hugging Edmund, touching his face and neck and hair, keeping a habit of pressing his fingers to the small of his back or lead him along with a warm grip to his underarm. No, the thing that is new is that, to show his gratitude and in some way devotion, Edmund begins to reciprocate, sometimes even to initiate. It doesn't happen often and at first feels weird, almost daring.  
But when he knows a hug is coming, he now opens his arms to receive it properly, lets his face connect with the warm skin by Peter's neck. When his brother ruffles or strokes his hair, Edmund closes his eyes, relaxed and trusting and sometimes, when he really allows himself to be brave, he is the first one touching. Only very small, simple gestures like a quick hand on Peter's shoulder or sitting just that little bit closer to him on the couch or even steadying against him when he reaches for something in the top shelf and Peter stands next to him, trying to save whatever Edmund originally meant to cook.  
He isn't sure why Peter himself seems to aim for so much physical contact, generally speaking Alphas only consistently seek it out once they'd found a mate but then Edmund thinks about Peter all alone for four years, his abrupt break with their parents and consequent exile and he feels so tenderly for his big brother, who after all doesn't even know how to approach his own sisters anymore, that he slinks from his bedroom to Peter's study only to fall down at his feet and press himself to Peter's knee, clinging to this small part of him until Peter would reach out to scratch his head and Edmund would seize that too, grab Peter's hand until this terrible feeling of distress left him again. He never, never wants Pete to be alone again. Not ever.

One morning when Susan doesn't have classes till noon and she sits on the couch, flipping through a magazine she picked up two weeks ago and forgotten in her bag and Edmund stands in the kitchen over a boiling and steaming bowl of uncooked potatoes, he tells Susan about Peter. How, in his endlessly clumsy way of it's-morning-but-I'm-not-actually-awake mood, had fallen over his own shoe and spilled coffee all down the front door. When the expected laughter doesn't come, he turns around to her and catches her in turn gazing thoughtfully at him.  
“What's up?”  
She just lightly shakes her head as if she'd been in deep thought, closes the magazine and takes her nyloned-feet off the armrest.  
“You and Peter really get along, huh?”  
“Course,” he answers, back to stabbing at the taters. “Why wouldn't we.”  
“That's not quite what I mean.”  
“What do you mean then?”  
“It's just... I don't know. You've been talking a lot about him lately. I don't know.”  
Turning down the heat a notch or two he says, “Well, there isn't really anything else in my life right now, I guess. If I'm not out with you guys, I'm here. With Pete.”  
“Yeah, I know, it's just... nevermind.”  
He scowls at her over his shoulder, then squares them.  
“Just spit it out.”  
“It's nothing, I swear,” she answers, burying her face into the magazine again.  
A couple of minutes there's silence between them, a bit heavier than before but not oppressive. Edmund mulls over what she might have to criticize. Maybe that Edmund had been talking endlessly of wanting to be independent and self-reliant and here is he now, playing the dutiful housewife? Or that he's somehow become too attached to Peter and thus hindering him in a possible pursuit of a fitting mate?  
Edmund's shoulders sink and he has to swallow.  
“So,” Susan begins suddenly, a cautious version of nonchalance in her voice, “you're heat's coming up soon.”  
“Yeah, so?”  
“So, what's your plan?”  
“What do you mean what's my plan? I'm gonna sit it out, as usual.”  
“Where?”  
That makes Edmund stop stirring for a second.  
“Here, I guess.”  
He hears her flip the page with a reproving little rasp. He keeps quiet though, he's learned from long experience.  
“Have you discussed this with Peter, yet?” she continues, her voice still so annoyingly vague.  
“No, not yet, why do you ask?”  
“Because you're both unmated and-”  
The spoon clatters against the bowl. Shocked, his face colours in a vivid red as he turns towards her.  
“We're brothers! Siblings aren't affected by stuff like that!”  
“You know as well as I do that in some cases-”  
“Pete doesn't think about me like that!”  
Forcefully, she snaps the paper close.  
“He doesn't need to, his body will just react to yours! And you haven't really been brothers for the last four years, so yes, I think it's perfectly possible for Peter not to recognize you as his once you're in heat.”  
“Then where else would I go? Back home?” he scoffs.  
Susan turns her head sideways, her eyes imploring but sad.  
“Mum and Dad just want you to be safe, Ed. They're sorry how things went.”  
Not able to help his shaky breath, Edmund turns back to his cooking, picks the spoon up and stirs the stupid potatoes.  
“I'll talk to Pete about it, although I think you're being rather ridiculous. If he wants me to go home, I'll go home.”  
“Okay,” Susan says, suddenly behind him and pressing her cheek between Edmund's shoulder blades. “That's all I'm asking.”

Half an hour later when she leaves and they're standing in the hall as she slips on her peep toes, Ed still thinks about what she'd said and intermittently has to shake his head to keep himself from chuckling. Peter losing control because Edmund was in heat. Ludicrous! Absolutely mental.  
“Listen,” she starts, again vaguely. “I know you think it's stupid what I said but-”  
“It is!” He says, grinning helplessly.  
She gives him a tight-lipped stare.  
“But,” she tries again, “you've been, well not _reeking_ exactly, but you smell pervasively of Peter.”  
“We live together,” he points out rather self-evidently. “That's natural.”  
“No, you don't understand. You _really_ smell like him. There's almost... We've-just-got-mated-and-can't-keep-our-hands-to-ourselves levels of scent-marking coming off of you.”  
He stares at her, more surprised than anything.  
“He was very lonely, I just... I try to be a comfort to him.”  
“I know,” she breathes out, then reaches for him and they hug goodbye. “Just don't be naïve.” 

 

The mashed potatoes somehow turned into gooey mush and although Peter eats valiantly, keeping a straight face with every empty, dripping fork he puts to his mouth, Edmund can see how hard he is trying not to laugh at his little brother.

“Just dump it,” Edmund says dejected. “I can't watch this.”

“No, it's really good,” Peter fucking _lies._ “Interesting take on... what exactly is this supposed to be?”

He looks sheepish but then the smile breaks free after all, followed by a hearty chuckle. Edmund gets up.

“Just give it here, I'll order pizza,” he says and forcefully picks up the plates, carrying them over to the waste bin in the kitchen.

“I really don't know how you keep managing that.”

“I'm following the recipes to a T, I swear! Maybe I'm cursed...”

“Sure, that'd be a reasonable explanation.”

Edmund sighs as he scrapes his failures off the china, his eyes land on the wall where the number for the pizza delivery place is written. Next to the calendar.

“What you've been up to today?” Peter asks conversationally as he steps up to the calendar himself, one hand following the phone number, the other typing them into his mobile.

“Susan came over,” Ed answers. “We just hung out.”

“Sounds nice,” Peter smiles at him over his shoulder, faintly the phone starts dialling.

“I'm going into heat soon,” Edmund just blurts out, Peter's eyes go big in surprise, his mouth opens too but then the voice of the costumer service rings through. Burning a hot red, Edmund turns away to the sink and turns the water on. What is wrong with him? Why does he always have to be so embarrassing and just say every bloody thing that comes to his mind? It's not like it's a dirty topic or anything but... it's so intimate and personal, he just wilfully put Peter into such an uncomfortable spot. What Alpha brother wants to know about their Omega sibling's special week. Fucking idiot. 

Suddenly, a hand lands on Edmund's arm, shame-faced he turns to look at Peter, who just gives him a concerned stare and then nudges his chin.

“Yeah, all right, thanks,” with that he hangs up and puts the phone back in his pocket. “Your heat's coming up?”

“I'm sorry, forget it. I wasn't thinking, it's nothing.”

“You can tell me. I mean, if you want to,” Peter says. “I'd like to know. How do you usually handle it? Do you need something for it? Do I have to buy anything in advance or during, is there anything to make you more comfortable, should I-” He blabbers on, then abruptly stops and grips Edmund lightly by the shoulders. “What do you need?”

Edmund is a bit speechless and overwhelmed to be perfectly honest, he can't keep eye contact.

“Usually I'd just lock myself into my room for a week. I have a whole... toolkit, too. Blankets and stuff. Mum was the only one I could have around me during that time, she made me food, made sure I drank enough, took a bath.”

“I see,” Peter says. “Want me to go get that stuff for you? Or maybe one of the girls could bring it.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Edmund agrees unsure.

Peter tries to catch his gaze.

“Anything else? Is there more you need? Just tell me.”

“Look, perhaps, for that time... I should just go home.”

“Why?” He asks, taken aback. “I can take care of you, I promise. I'll do it. Whatever you need, I'll do it. Should I get a hotel room? Do you need Susan and Lucy around you? I'll get them right now. Whatever it is you need me to do. Anything.”

“I-,” Edmund can't help it, he stares open-mouthed at Peter's agitated face before hanging his head in shame. “You don't need to do anything. I'm sorry, I just...”

“What? What is it?”

“I don't want to inconvenience you any further, I didn't want to bother you, this is your flat, after all, you've already taken care of so much for me and I can't even pay for groceries or... do anything for you.”

Peter's hands slide upwards until they're cupping Edmund's face and prompt him to look up.

“Don't ever worry about me, Ed.”

It's so heartfelt, so softly said, Edmund lets out the tiniest breath and steps forward, pressing his face to Peter's warm chest. It takes a second before he feels the two strong arms engulfing him, gentle and protectively at first but then quickly, Peter's body pushes him backwards until Edmund is crowded against the sink and Peter's hands become possessive in their pursuit. They rip the undershirt from his waistband and dip underneath against Edmund's shuddering skin, remaining in goosebumps no matter how long or tightly he feels Peter's hands roam his skin. The way his big brother nuzzles into his neck and up to his ear that it makes Edmund's knees weak, the way, every time, Edmund can feel Peter's erection pressing up against him and he knows that even if he thinks of these as 'hugs' it's never really been that. And then there's that kiss they never talk about, that Edmund can't bear to revisit, much less put into words. And maybe it really isn't normal the way he and Peter live together, the way Peter treats and cares for him. And maybe Susan is right, he's being naïve and maybe, with his heat coming up, he can't longer afford that.

“Why do you keep doing this?” He hears himself, quiet as a whisper against Peter's laboured breathing. There's a tense ripple going through him but then Peter steps back, his hands holding Edmund by the biceps, regarding him.

“You have no idea, do you? How you smell.” Edmund looks at him bewildered. Peter's face moves just a bit closer and for the first time Edmund feels something like fear in his presence. “How, if any other Alpha ever got so much as a whiff of you, they'd go crazy needing to have you, to take you right where you stand.”

Edmund shivers.

“Do you... feel like that, too?”

Something flickers over Peter's eyes, then his grips slackens.

“You are special to me, Edmund,” he says and walks away, just like that.

  
He doesn't tell Susan about any of that but she wordlessly bring his care bag over and although he wishes he could explain to her why staying with Peter is so important to him, the truth is that he's too much of a confused mess right now, not to mention a horrible coward.

So he spends the week mulling and doing his chores, sighing over every part-time job rejection until, one day, his heat arrives.

 

Edmund stands in the kitchen, packing groceries away. He gets on tip-toe to stow the cereal to its place in the upper cabinet, when he feels a first wave wash over him, slick creeping from his hole. With a thud he's back on his soles, a heady gush of breath leaving him. There's a blurry memory pulsing. Still, he can't seize it, has to support himself against the cool counter. A glance to the calendar confirms, he's a day early which in itself doesn't throw him but the suddenness and the intensity makes him anxious. It's been years and years since it hit him so hard and all at once. Edmund tries to stick to his list of what to do, get a bottle of water, get to his room, text Susan or Lucy, towels, too, maybe crack the windows and lock the door, and he should call Peter-

“Aah!” Another wave washes over him, his dick is so hard, his nipples feel sensitive even through his threadbare shirt, fuck he hasn't even gotten undressed or touched himself and already he can't suppress the moans.

And he feels so light-headed, what did he needed to do again? Towels, Susan, Door and- dammit, he can't think. Shaking as if he was fever sick he trips and stumbles to his room, makes sure it's closed behind him and then, even more jittery, he gets out of his clothes, rubbing one out right there, leaning against the door. It takes maybe thirty seconds before he comes, a stream of slick leaking from his hole, making the space between his buttocks slippery and obscene. He hates how debasing this whole thing is and how much every aspect of it just turns him on despite it.

Wiping his hand and dick and crack with a tissue, he takes the two minutes of semi-conscious head-space to get his duffel out, the blanket which's smell always soothes him when his body is coming down from heavy phases (it used to belong to Peter, too, Edmund remembers now and again he feels a new heat wave building up), he grabs his stiff pillow which stays rigid enough in form that he can rut against it and is soft so he won't chafe after six or seven consecutive uses, then there are a small assortment of dildos and vibrators that his Mum got for him but he never liked using much. Usually, he got through fine with his own fingers, while artificial phallic instruments tended to frustrate his senses more than anything.

Edmund looks to the window, debating to open it or not, it already feels so stifling in here and it's only gonna get worse but he doesn't know if he can manage to get off the bed and back again without ending up on the floor.

If only Peter were here, he thinks, then everything would be okay. He's moaning again, one long drawn out one, so he works three of his fingers at once in and his breathing grows into hard, repetitive bursts. It's so much stronger than usual, which probably isn't so surprising, he realizes and bucks hard into his hand. His pack isn't around him anymore so his body must be increasing pheromone output in order to attract a new Alpha that will take care of him. He comes again but immediately knows it's one of those orgasms that doesn't even take the edge off. So he just keeps on pumping his dick, knowing that it's not actually gonna go limp anyway.

It's about three loads later that he realizes he's really in for it now, he's humping the pillow, fingers stuck in his ass, not even thrusting just to feel some kind of fullness and still it's not ebbing down. It's like whether he comes or not has no actual effect on him, he feels so fucking overheated and desperate and keeps glancing at the clock on his wall because Peter isn't home on time today which makes everything a thousand times worse because for some inexplicable reason he keeps thinking if only Peter were here, it wouldn't be so bad. Fuck, fuck, fuuuck!!! With the next unsatisfying orgasm he bites into the pillow, his hips pressing so hard into the soft material. He thinks he might actually start crying.

Then he hears the door fall close and he stills, breathing heavy through his nose.

“Ed? I'm home!” Peter calls and Ed genuinely fucking whimpers. “I've got a surprise for you,” he sing-songs as he walks past Edmund's closed door to the living-room. He must have gotten groceries or something because Ed can hear the rustle of plastic. “If you're in the bathroom you better hurry up because I got us some champagne aaaaand- a triple chocolate cake!” He sounds so incredibly carefree and happy and Ed can't do anything except lay there with his fingers up his ass and whispering his brother's name like a mantra.

“I've talked to HR today and guess what!” Peter calls, waiting for a reply that won't come. “You've got a part-time job, Ed!”

And Edmund definitely would cheer the fucking house down right now if any of that actually reached his brain but there is nothing except the knowledge that Peter is right out there and why doesn't he come here instead?

“Ed? You there?” Another little pause. “Ed?” Now it sounds a bit concerned but at least it's coming closer. And Edmund is answering in tiny little huffs of “Peter.”  
So then his brother knocks at his door, opens and peeks his head in, his face flushed and happy, mouth opening in a casual “What are you doing in here-” except his voice breaks off and Ed can pinpoint the exact second the heavy-scented smell of his slick reaches Peter's nose because his pupil's blow and the grip on Edmund's door goes white-knuckled.

“ _Peter,”_ Edmund begs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	4. pour couvrir ton corps d’or et de lumière

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these were supposed to be short chapters, why am I like this.
> 
> on another note: Lost made a fucking Narnia reference. They have a room called 'The lamppost' and it shows the way to the magical (Is)land. I can never leave, you guys. Everything is gonna bring me back to pedmund hell.
> 
> Lastly,  
> caution: there be smut

Living in a society such as theirs, so dominated by inherent genealogical factors, means that rules are needed. Many of those rules are merely common courtesies, like sniffing someone in public. You just don't do that, man, it's fucking rude. Similarly, you'll get certain looks when engaging in PDA. A quick hug or hand-holding is no biggie but anything more than that and it gets risky. Not because others frown upon that but because how the body will react. Come on, we've all had it happen. A hug becomes a nuzzle becomes a kiss becomes a grope becomes a search for friction becomes a pheromone blast that leaves you two fucking like rabies-infested raccoons behind the dumpsters at a McDonald's. Just No, dude. Keep physical contact brief and friendly and we all leave with our dignity intact.

There's a bunch of... let's call them rules of civility, which you get infused together with your mother's milk and everyone adheres to, unless you want to start shit, of course. Rebellious Betas in their youth are usually the most prone to break them. These rules cover behaviour patterns. Alphas are the ones with unlimited power of what they're allowed to get away with basically. Betas are still good, though, Edmund thinks, they can do whatever they want too, given they don't seriously piss off an Alpha while doing so. Omegas are still free-range, too, he guesses. But they have to sneak a lot through the backdoor.

These rules are important and function without putting anyone at a serious disadvantage, otherwise the way they live wouldn't work as well as it does. Edmund doesn't waste energy on complaining about the small inconveniences. What you are born as, is down to luck after all and the system is rigged so that each of the three groups is positioned to reach exactly that status in life that should cater the most to their natures and leave them satisfied. It's all good, though you can overcome those boundaries, you just have to work your ass off.

Lastly, there are those rules that are just that unbreakable and vital that they are actual _laws._ 'No means No', for example. Seriously, buddy, don't even think about taking advantage of an Omega in heat. Not even the executioner will enjoy castrating you, but he'll do it. Abortions is another. Hotly debated topic every year. If it was conceived through rape or the pregnancy will seriously harm the Omega, there will be leeway but when it comes down to it? Future children are just too damn important. Luckily, though, contraceptives are free and widely available, the adoption agencies are top notch, too and there's no stigma surrounding it. The general consensus is to strive to have everyone in the community happy and safe.

There are actually a bunch of laws pertaining to the safety of children and among all those carefully crafted articles is one subitem called 'Incest'. Originally, it was probably implemented to protect younger family members from predatory older ones and of course based on the belief that it would be gravely detrimental to the genetic pool of potential offspring. Edmund doesn't really remember right now but he's pretty sure he's read somewhere that those claims at least, don't hold up. Those deficiencies only arise after multiple generations of committed incest. Still, it remains to this day one of the ugliest, most abhorred felonies one could engage in. It brings shame to both parties in the same amount. It leads to serious legal charges, an ostracising from family, acquaintances, and even the society itself. Those found guilty often only have one option available: Disappear. Leave everything behind, live under false name and isolated from your pack for the rest of your, probably short, life.

 

So Edmund knows all this, is acutely aware of all and every consequence and still here he is; face down on the mattress, getting fucked by his brother's cock.

Peter's hand is in his hair, pulling him up. Edmund gasps. Air hits his lungs and Peter's hips Edmund's ass. The sweat and slick connecting their bodies squelches obscenely. His fingers claw themselves into the sheet as Peter reaches that one wondrous spot inside him. The one his own hand never could quite get to. It punches a moan out of him. Edmund's whole body arches into it. It's so good and he's so hard, drunk on Peter's smell and those breathy grunts he keeps making as he thrusts and works himself deep inside of Edmund. Then Peter rocks into him more quickly, rattling the bed or maybe just Edmund. He can't be sure really, his head is just sort of swimming anyway. He only knows that he wants to stay here, in this moment where everything feels good and right and for once makes perfect sense.

But then Peter slides his hand from Edmund's hair, down the nape of his neck, between his shoulder blades and along the ridges of Edmund's vertebrae until slotting itself opposite his other hand; effectively gripping Edmund's waist, pulling him forcefully back against Peter's merciless thrusts. And Edmund wants to scream, it's so intense, hitting his prostate again and again and _again._ His thighs quiver but he can't help it, he pushes his ass further up, simultaneously freeing his leaking cock from the pillow it was still pushed down on. Only now, with their erratic movement, it keeps bobbing, slapping itself against Edmund's abdomen. He reaches out a hand, releases a shuddery groan of relief when he touches it. Suddenly, Peter shifts his weight, bears down heavy on Edmund. His hips never cease their pistoning but he lowers himself onto him all the same. Edmund, caged between the mess of a mattress and the sweltering heat that is Peter above him, keeps rocking his hips, keeps chasing that friction, until Peter works a hand under him, too, and they both encircle Edmund's dick, pumping him. And he's sure it's enough this time, the sweet release building up in his toes. Edmund could cry. Then Peter's chin connects with his sweaty shoulder, slides down until Edmund feels Peter's lips moving over his skin, parting when they reach Edmund's neck and there's the threat of teeth, of a bite mark, a fucking bonding mark and Edmund shouts, spills all over their entwined hands. He feels his channel constricting, squeezing Peter inside of him and Pete's righting himself then, getting back up on his knees to pull out and shoot his spunk all over Edmund's back.

Edmund tries to crane his neck around, somehow wanting to complain. Not that Pete's cum is all over him but that it isn't _inside._ He even opens his mouth but in the end there's just some slurred nonsense noises coming out and anyway it's probably better this way. Why again, though? He can't remember.

Tired, with his eyes halfway closed, he watches Peter move about the room. He picks up a towel from the giant stack Ed had dropped on the floor, gives himself a quick wipe down. Edmund's gaze is glued to his brother's flaccid dick. It doesn't occur to him that that's kinda weird and Pete doesn't say anything either. He just comes over then, scrubs and wipes at the mess on his little brother's back and between his thighs. It's the same towel and it should be disgusting probably but instead Edmund just smiles to himself. The last thing he sees is Pete stalking through the room, gathering clothes back up but then Edmund's eyes just go shut.

It can't be more than a minute before Peter sits down on the bed with him, stroking sweaty hair out of Edmund's face.

“Hey,” he says, very soothing, very soft, Ed likes it a lot. “I'm gonna run to the store real quick, okay?”

Ed does not like that at all. So he whines dismayed.

“I'll be gone ten minutes tops, you'll be all right.”

Respectfully, Ed disagrees. Therefore, he grabs Peter's hand, the one so nicely going through his hair, and clasps it tightly. Ha! See if he can leave now.

“Just sleep for a bit, you'll feel better.”

Maybe he has a point there, Ed does feel terribly exhausted. And it would be so easy to just yawn and... drift off for a while...

 

When he wakes up it's with a start. Eyes shoot open, torso shoots upright. Which not good because now he's dizzy. Except it's just normal got-up-too-fast-dizziness and not the endless, usual heat dizziness. Frankly, he feels quite clear headed and that makes everything a gazillion times worse because it means what just popped into his head wasn't a fever dream but a replay of real-life actual memories.

The scene emerges so vividly.

Peter standing in the door, white-knuckled grip on the frame and then- then he basically whipped his dick out and gave Edmund the most fucked up deflowering possible. All right, maybe there were a couple more steps in between. Like, Peter's wide-eyed stumble backwards as he realized in what state Edmund was in. Or, Edmund himself, actually crying and reaching a hand out as he saw Peter disappearing again. Or even, the tentative approach Peter then tried. Taking these cautious steps towards Ed, except his pupils were still all blown and Edmund could smell the growing excitement of his alpha brother. Which lead him to do the most horrifying, humiliating gesture possible; Edmund pulled his own fingers out of his ass, shifted as well as he could in the tangled bedsheets, and fucking _presented_.

And who could possibly blame Peter then, if Edmund so willingly, so _wantonly_ offered himself to him? It's such a blatant scheme to lure an Alpha into a permanent bond, only the most wicked Omegas would do it with someone who never even touched them before. It's supposed to be the ultimate sacred gesture, after one's been with their Alpha already for a while, until both have decided up front that they would like to take this step and for Ed to just- it makes the cold sweat break out over his skin. But for Peter to- to stand there and reach a hand out – the briefest touch of his fingertips agonizingly close to Edmund's hole – and then to simply move it upwards until he could press the palm of his hand reassuringly to Edmund's jumping pulse point and say, “Ed, I can't- I couldn't.”

But Edmund could hear the strain in his voice, the suppression of lust. So he turned his head and caught his brother's eye.

“Pete,” he whispered. “Please.”

 

„Oh God, oh fuck, oh God,“ says Edmund, throwing the blanket from him, heat of a completely different nature overcoming him. His palms start tingling with pricks and needles and he's fairly sure he's having a panic attack. Shifting to the edge of the bed, he tries to get up but his head spins so he drops down again. In and out, he tells himself. Only his thoughts race like crazy and it's too much, he's entirely overwhelmed, has no idea what to do, he's only seventeen, this is too much responsibility.

The key in the front door turns. And Peter comes in, very quietly, obviously expecting Edmund to still be asleep. On the opposite, Ed's heart is fucking jackhammering, he tries to force his lungs to still but that only hurts his chest and Peter walks down the hall, coming directly to him, his hand pushes the door further open, their eyes meet and- and- Ed's fucking hole _throbs._

“Ed?” Peter asks, “How're you feeling?”

“Nngh,” makes Edmund, high-pitched and pathetic because his dick's filling again, just as his mind supplies him with the sensation of Peter shooting his cum all over his ass.

So, he takes the last shred of sense and turns over. Pressing his erection against the sheets and into the mattress. It's not so much that he spreads his legs as the fact that he keeps entirely still, his head lowered, so that Peter must understand what he has to do know. And he doesn't hesitate this time. Edmund hears the belt buckle, the rustle of fabric, the small huff of breath as Peter pulls his shirt over his head. He concentrates on trying not to think and then he smells Peter's arousal again and his head definitely logs off.

The mattress dips. Peter takes hold of him and hauls him further towards the centre. The ease with which he does it, as much as the slide of the sheets against his erection make Edmund whine. Then Peter gets in position, parting Edmund's legs, his cheeks where the slick meets the cold air, eliciting a shiver. He tilts Ed's hips upward a bit, shimmies that last centimetre closer. The head of his dick nudges against Edmund's entrance. Peter leans over him, whispers, “I'll take care of you,” and Ed bites his lip.

Peter pushes in and forward, it's with enough force that Edmund's arms tense in order to brace against it. And oh, it's immediately so good, he wouldn't be surprised if he ends up lolling his tongue.

Peter really hammers into him, hitting his sweet spot every time. It riles Ed enough up that he gets up on all fours, just so he can properly move back into those thrusts. By this time it's like he's almost forgotten who it is that's fucking him. If Peter hadn't said anything, he would have been fine with the illusion of just getting used and bred by whoever. But Peter, with the exertion clear in his voice asks, “This okay?” and Ed is knocked straight back into reality.

His hand clasps over Peter's that is busy forming a bruise on his hip, except Peter entwines their fingers without a second of hesitation. Ed's forehead hits the mattress and he shouts through his release, watching his own cum splash out. It feels like an eternity before the orgasm passes.

 

The first sense registering again is hearing; high-pressured water running. Then the feeling of the plush bathroom carpet against his cheek. Next, how dry his throat is, he smacks his lips slowly and opens his eyes. There's Peter, naked in front of the bathtub. Ed can see his dick between his legs.

“Urgh,” Ed groans, as if he'd been on a bender and now has to deal with the awful aftermath of an inevitable hangover. Peter glances over to him. Edmund flops on his back, staring exhausted at the ceiling.

“You're awake, that's good,” says Peter.

“Urgh,” says Edmund.

Then the water stops and Pete gets up, walks over to the sink, turns on the tap for a moment and finally sits down with Edmund. He presses a cool facecloth to Edmund's forehead.

“How are you feeling?”

Ed makes a vague grunt but blushes still, he's just glad the cloth hides his eyes.

“Hot,” he shrugs.

“Yeah,” Peter muses, sounding somewhat embarrassed, as well. Speaking of embarrassment. Ed trails a quick hand to his thigh. Yep, he's definitely naked. And on full display, the way he's lying. For a hot second he contemplates what would be more awkward; crossing his legs and crushing his genitals in an attempt of decency or just ignore it and pretend there's nothing out of the ordinary the way Pete and him are just hanging out. Naked. In a steaming bathroom. After having sex. Twice.

Edmund claps a hand on the wash cloth. Maybe he can quietly asphyxiate himself.

“We should talk,” Peter says.

Edmund swallows.

“Right.”

Peter rasps, scratches his head, shifts into a more cross-legged position.

“So, uh, I- Well,...”

Edmund's never heard Peter flounder. Seriously, not ever. Not when caught in a lie, or doing something he wasn't supposed to, or even during bloody school recitals. So, Edmund slides the cloth from his eyes all the way down to his neck and collarbone, lets their eyes meet.

“I'm not sure what I'm doing is all right but I've thought about it and... this doesn't need to be anything. Just me helping my little bro out, you know? I've even uh- I went to the store and bought these-,” he gestures to a small box on top of the sink. It's a max pack of condoms. Holy shit. “-so there's no risk for, you know, and well, yeah.”

Edmund is positively gaping. There's a whole goddamn pack of- there are seventy- Peter is offering-

“What do you think? Is this okay for you?”

Edmund makes a noise, then squirms, and Pete's eyes follow the movement. Edmund's cock is swelling.

“Ed?” he asks again, sorta cautious.

“I can't-,” Edmund's fingers claw themselves into the facecloth by his throat. “I can't deal with this right now, just-”

“Yeah, okay,” Peter agrees, getting up from his position and taking hold of Edmund, helping him up. “I've drawn you a bath, I thought-”

Yeah, Edmund wants to say, that sounds fricking amazing, he wants to say, but instead he just moans because as soon as he's on his feet his thighs quiver.

“Can you step in, I'll-”

“No, just-” Edmund cuts in, grasping Peter's strong biceps. “Just do me again.”

Peter looks at him unsure. “But-”

“ _Please.”_

His brother breathes out but then nods quickly and lowers Ed, thankfully, back onto the ground. Immediately, Edmund fists himself, pumping his dick blissfully. Behind him Peter gets the condoms, then kneels.

“Hold on to the edge,” Peter instructs and Ed follows suit, the cool feel of the surface heavenly. There's the rustle of ripping plastic and Peter must be putting the condom on. What a shame, Ed thinks, not all too consciously.

“Ready?” Peter asks without really expecting a reply because in the next second Ed feels it again; the breach of Peter into him. He moans. It doesn't feel as life-threatening intense at first but soon enough Ed looses himself in his heat head space and when Peter starts really barrelling into him, Ed's hands slip. He chest knocks against the tub. Peter puts a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back onto his cock but Edmund's face is over the edge now and in the water's surface he sees it; his own face. Flushed and blissed out, it rattles with Peter's thrusts. There's a dumb smile on his lips. He has no idea what it means or how it got there. The pace slows down a little, Peter probably taking a breather, except then a hand lands on Edmund's cock and he sees the face on the water moan, brows furrowing. It's maybe three more minutes with Peter fucking him and jerking him off before Edmund watches himself come. He's so exhausted, he would love to just roll right over into the warmth of the bath but he's not so tired that he doesn't notice Peter pulling it. He didn't come. He stopped. Before he came.

 

The bath is divine, as much as Edmund registers of it anyway. Peter doesn't get in with him. Takes a shower, though. One eye always on his little brother, making sure he doesn't accidentally drown himself. Afterwards, Pete hauls him out of there, towels him down and finally carries him bridal-style to bed. To Peter's bed, Ed notices happily as he smushes his nose into the pillow, and then promptly clocks out.

 

Hours later, he wakes up to semi darkness. It's a full moon, shining right into the room, falling over Edmund's back and illuminating Peter's face across from him. He's asleep, breathing evenly and covered by nothing but a pair of shorts. Is hand is loosely curled over Edmund's hip. He's never seen him like this, so innocently soft and unguarded. A day of many firsts it seems, sighs Edmund, withstanding the crazy urge to trace Peter's cheekbone. Behind his brother, on the night stand, is the pack of condoms. There's a shiver running through him and if he wasn't so sleepy he'd probably realized right away why his body had woken him up. Like this though, he only swallows the grunt of annoyance and moves over onto his back. Pete's hand slips down with a soft thud. It's only now he notices that he's actually dressed. Or, you know, not entirely naked. He's wearing an unfamiliar shirt, three sizes too big. Peter's, he realizes. Then concentrates back on the matter at hand, spreads his legs to get at his cock.

A single touch and Edmund's already hitching his breath. His pelvis automatically tilts up, moving into his hand and slowly, he begins pumping. Keeping the rhythm relaxed so the noises won't get too loud. Bites his lip, too. He feels the wetness between his thighs again, angles his knees up, plants his feet on the sheets and arches into his own fist. There's this fluttering sensation by his hole again, as if it wants nothing more but to hold onto something. Throbbing and thrumming for a cock to fill it. Wantonly, Ed throws his head to the side, suppressing a whimper. Remembering the sleeping Peter, he cracks an eye open.

He's still there. Just as before. Softly dreaming with his mouth slightly open. Then Edmund's eyes rake lower and stick to the stray hand lying between them. Peter's fingers look so much nicer than his own. Bigger, _better._ It's an impulse decision but he's mostly beyond coherent thought right now and if he's super careful surely Pete won't be disturbed.

So, cautiously he picks up Peter's hand, folds three fingers down and holds them there so that his index and middle finger are free. Then Edmund turns onto his side, angles his leg up and guides Peter's hand between his slick thighs and behind his balls, right up against his greedy, sopping hole. They go in. Edmund muffles a groan. It's such an obscene sound, this squelch. But it feels so, so good. Determined, he begins to thrust Peter's fingers into him again and again, little abortive thrusts, he can't manage much more than that. And it's actually maddening, therefore he shimmies a bit closer to Peter's body. This forces Peter's arm to go more rigid and Ed uses it to rub his balls against the wrist, his cock against the underarm. He pants now. Open-mouthed. Rutting against his brother's arm while he watches his sleeping face. Clueless, still rendered so gentle by the moonlight.

Embarrassed by his own sounds, Edmund turns his face into the pillow, escaping his shame at least somewhat. But he's drooling, too, dampening the fabric because he can't not.

A twitch in Peter's finger. Life going abruptly back into his arm. Ed is shocked into stillness. Turns enough to peek at Peter, who stares back at him, wide awake and rapidly comprehending. Edmund's chest is expanding but he doesn't know how to explain, how to apologize.

Then, a bulging biceps and a slow thrust. Ed gasps. So Peter does it again, starts fucking Edmund with his fingers.

“Is this enough?” he asks into the silence between them and just as Edmund wants to answer, Peter curls his fingers and a ripple cracks along Edmund's spine.

“Yes!” he shouts, “Yes, yes, yes, yes-!”

And he wishes he could hold onto something more than the bedsheets but there's nothing, absolutely nothing, he's lost.

 

Another morning, another apprehensive awakening. This time: to the faint smell of coffee and pancakes. As enticing as it wafts through the closed door, Edmund prefers to take another moment. He feels reasonably okay, not overly sore, not particularly exhausted, head is working and computing input fine and logically. Oh God.

Pushing the horrible flashbacks to the side, Ed instead means to focus on finding some sort of manual in his head, labelled perhaps: How to behave after a heat-induced bout of fucking with your Alpha brother. Dos and Don'ts. That kind of helpful advice. He comes up empty. Naturally.

Plucking the pillow from under his head, he smothers himself for a moment, then simply yells into it. There, surely that helped. Stretching for another minute, he finally gets up, tip-toes right under the shower and gets properly dressed afterwards.

Unlike Edmund, in sweatpants and old T-shirt, Peter is properly dressed, jeans and button-up. The nice blue one Ed likes so much, that brings his eyes out.

Peter flings another pancake onto the already heaping stack, when Edmund steps next to him to pour himself some life-sustaining bean water. He lets out a cheery, “Morning.”

Edmund has to blink, then swallow, then rasp.

“Morning,” he gets out eventually.

“Mind setting the table? I'm almost done here.”

There's a second of stand still where Edmund thinks he must not have gotten the script for this day's episode, then chastises himself and gets some plates.

 

All through breakfast Peter makes idle conversation. Edmund is honestly too confused to contribute much. Shouldn't this be like unbearably awkward? Let's not look at each other's eyes for the next three months, possibly five years, kind of awkward? But Pete just rambles on and cracks jokes and eats his fucking strawberry jam pancake like any other day. It's only when Ed glances at the clock does he realize it's not business as usual.

“You're not at work,” he remarks.

Pete stops cutting for a second, looks at him befuddled and then shrugs.

“I've taken a week off.”

“Oh.”

So that condom pack was obviously a serious proposal. Edmund pushes himself from the table.

“I should text Susan and Lucy not to come over,” he mumbles and flees to his bedroom. Except, halfway out the room he sees his phone sitting on the couch table in front of the TV. Ungainly, he adjusts his direction and picks it up.

 

_Heat started. I feel fine. Everything I need is here. Don't worry. Don't come over._

 

Almost he sends it, then adds,

 

_Peter's keeping to his own room._

 

Bam. There you have it, Su. Everything's just perfectly fine, fucking dandy.

Behind him Peter gets up and puts the dishes away. Edmund looks at him over his shoulder. … Is everything okay?

Like on fucking cue, Ed stumbles, a wave of dizziness forcing him to brace against the arm rest. Not again, he thinks. Pete bought a giant condom pack, he thinks. Obviously, he wants to help and frankly Ed would like that very much too but there's no way he's actually gonna voice that. He does the only thing he can and just looks at Peter. Peter, who is scraping the plates clean and whistles, who offered to just be there and help him through that. Entirely unselfish.

And thinking a look will suffice is of course stupid, except holy shit, it does. Peter, noticing Edmund's stare winks at him, smiling and carefree. And then doesn't turn away again. Instead his face goes serious and his eyes intent. It makes Edmund's knees weak. The plate clatters on the counter because Peter doesn't look away. Strides directly over. And Ed can't help it, he moves a step back. But there's only the armrest behind him and Peter in front, right in his face. He grips Edmund by the throat with one hand, while his other goes easily past his waistband, between his cheeks and plunges into him. The same two fingers from last night. Edmund mewls. The heat growing overpowering. It's a good thing Peter's holding him up.

“I can't keep doing this, Ed,” he says though. “You have to actually say it.”

But he just whines, tries to make sense of what Peter is asking of him, yet can only concentrate on having these fingers deeper inside him.

“Tell me you want me to take charge here,” he continues, then adds, softer, “Promise you won't hate me for this.”

And Ed just- gives up because the last sensible part of his brain is hit with the catastrophic realization that – godfuckingdammit - he's in love.

But Peter must interpret his silence differently. His grip slackens until he's cupping Edmund's cheek.

“This is a vacuum for us, okay? It won't change anything. We're still brothers. It means nothing.”

There are words coming out of Pete's mouth and they are probably important but aside from the deep timbre reverberating nothing takes hold in Edmund's brain. He just whimpers again, presses his body to Peter's and the palm of his hand against Peter's hardening cock.

“I do want it, you, to take care of me.”

There's another second of contemplation passing over Peter's features. Then he lets go of Edmund. Only to throw him over his shoulder.

 

Again, they land in Peter's bed and Peter fucks him from behind. Deep, yet detached somehow. Methodically, yet almost medically. He pulls out once Edmund is done and when Edmund turns around, grabs for him, Peter plucks his hand away only after a couple of strokes.

“This is not about me,” he says.

But then what do you get out of this, Edmund wonders in his addled brain. More than once.

 

The next two days are mostly spend in bed. Edmund alone at first with Peter retreating back to his study but when it became apparent that Ed could literally not bear that he relocated. Now they watch a lot of TV and whenever a particularly vain looking person comes on, Ed points at them and says, “That's you.”

Peter shakes his head but grins every time.

They read, too. Peter propped up against the back rest, going through work related stuff or getting a good chunk ahead in that novel he's been reading for three weeks and not particularly enjoying. Ed's gone through every one of his comics in the same time. And enjoying himself immensely, laying on his belly and snacking on whole aisles worth of junk food.

When he feels another heat wave coming on or Pete smells it, they go still and wait for the other to notice. Then their eyes meet and Ed gives a little nod. Peter will move on top of him, fuck him through it nice and quick until they go back to resuming what they did before.

There's been a real dent in the amount of condoms but there's also really no romance to it. Which, you know, is good because this is supposed to be a pragmatic matter and sure, maybe Ed feels like a pocket vagina at times just there to be filled, except of course that Peter refuses to come himself, so maybe Pete is actually a pocket penis. Anyway though, things are convoluted enough he doesn't need to put his hormone-wrecked brain to any additional nonsensical tasks.

Point is: Ed always imagined his first time to be profound and life-changing and bloody rose-coloured. Sodding Hollywood.

Annoyed, he turns the TV off and throws the remote away. Pete is still immersed in that document he has open on his laptop. So Ed turns over and picks up his phone, holding it over his face. There are no new messages, the last one being

 

_K._

 

from Susan. He scowls at it.

Next to him Peter closes his laptop and sets it aside, before he slides down and they both lie silently together, staring up.

“What's it like?” Peter asks. “Being in heat?”

Startled, his phone hits him right in the face. Edmund feels the blush. He thought he was over the awkwardness of it by now but talking about it still affects him obviously.

“Um... bloody annoying?”

Peter huffs, then turns on his side, facing Edmund.

“I mean, how does it feel? When it starts up again.”

Chewing on the inside of his lip, Ed has to think about it for a second.

“Like going stupid,” is what he settles on. “Or being super fucking drunk. First thing is usually just burning up all of a sudden. You feel so hot you just need to get out of your clothes. And then horny. Because you have to touch yourself to get out of your clothes. And that's like Bam! Every time. Because it's like, you know when you have a bad flu and it's like your bones are hurting and your skin is too sensitive?”

“Yeah.”

“It's like that. Only, it actually feels all kinds of amazing when you touch yourself or get touched. And by that time is also when your brain just shuts off, or fucks off rather. I literally can't think or my thoughts can't connect? For example, I think: My ass feels empty. Okay. Next thought: I have fingers I could put in there. Genius, I'll do that.”

Peter laughs. So, Edmund swats at him.

“Seriously! And it's not getting much more complex than that. Just what could make me feel good? That person has a penis? They should put it in me. It's so fucking stupid.”

“And when you come down?”

“Well, I've never taken drugs but I suppose it is akin to coming down from a trip. You just slowly settle again, rational thought resurfaces, embarrassment and regret punches you in the solar plexus. That sort of stuff.”

There's a twitch in Peter's jawline, Edmund almost doesn't catch it.

“Not that this is- I mean, this- it's much better than before.”

“Why.”

He's looking so intensely at him now, Ed feels hot.

“Before, I wouldn't get out of that state until the heat was completely over. I had times were it wasn't so bad but also times where I just wanted to jump out of my skin. It was so frustrating. Having that itch that you just can't scratch and you can't think about anything else for the whole time. So this is... this is better.”

“Good,” Peter says, the tiniest smile on his lips. Then he reaches out and strokes a lock from Edmund's face.

“What's it like for you?” Edmund asks in return. “When I get like that?”

He sighs, then rolls over onto his back.

“Well, mentally it's nothing like yours. Things get somehow... sharper, more focused. Although, I suspect they do zero in. Like there's only one thing I can really concentrate on.”

“Which is?”

“You, of course. Make sure you're all right and safe and cosy and comfortable and... I just want to make you feel good, in every sense.”

“That must be annoying, I'm sorry.”

“No, don't-” he protests. “It's nice, actually. Being allowed to care for you, being _able to_ , especially. That's all I want. And I'm happy that I can.”

Edmund gulps.

“Yeah, that is nice, I suppose.”

 

After the worst three days are over and the intervals between waves get longer and longer, they slowly resume a more differentiated routine. Edmund's just returning from the dryer with a basket full of fresh laundry when he glimpses Peter sitting on the couch, going through a bunch of cookbooks.

“You want to refine your culinary skills?” Ed asks and drops down next to him.

“I've been dying for some pot roast lately.”

“Like Mother used to make?”

Peter falters at that, watches Edmund fold socks for a moment.

“Yeah.”

Sensing dangerous territory, Ed rasps.

“What I wanted to ask,” he begins and notices Peter has gone a little stiff next to him. Wondering if the mention of their mother really rattled him, but then he feels a surge in his nether regions. Oh.

“What I wanted to ask,” he says again and pops the button on his pants. “I think I remember you saying something about a part-time job.”

“I did, yeah,” Peter agrees, halfway out of his own trousers.

“When do I start? What do I do?”

“Want to bend over the armrest? It'll be better on your knees,” Peter throws in, waits for Edmund to get into position before getting a condom out of his pocket and lining up behind him. “Potentially, you could start on Monday,” he continues and fucks in. “It's not a very challenging job, basically you'd be the secretary's secretary.”

“I don't mind that,” he says through a gasp when Peter really goes for it. “What sort of tasks would that entail?”

“You'd pretty much be an office boy, I imagine. Making photocopies, dropping files off, archiving them, getting coffee. That sort of thing.”

Edmund would ask more but Peter is hammering away at his prostate again and he's just trying not to topple over with the force of his thrusts.

“You'll be working on my floor,” Peter adds, a strain growing in his voice. “I would have tried to get you up to counselling but even their errand boys need a diploma.”

“No, that- ah- that's fine.”

“I just didn't want you to think-” he tilts Edmund's hips up, smaller thrusts but increased speed, “- that I'm purposefully planning to keep you under my thumb.”

There's no more talk for a while after that.

 

On the sixth day he wakes up and does chores and, basically hours pass without anything happening. It must be over, he muses, and doesn't actually feel all that relieved about it. Which is stupid because what? Did he want to savour the 'last' time because they have been in a vacuum and once they leave it they can never return, can never speak of it? Because that's the thing: it must never happen again.

 

Ritually, he goes and takes a shower, washes the week and this whole disaster off. His shampoo is almost empty, so he grabs for Peter's expensive shit. Opens the cap and holds it to his nose. It's over now... Edmund puts the bottle away without using it. Takes the wash cloth and scrubs behind his balls. He is the most pathetic, ludicrous person alive and- Edmund sways.

 

There are drips trailing him all the way to the kitchen, he didn't bother bringing a towel. Peter is at the counter, cutting things up. Ed doesn't hesitate, scurries over and buries a hand into Peter's shirt.

Surprised, he swirls around, his mouth opening but his eyes get stuck on his face, rake over his flushed cheeks, his trembling lips, those dilated pupils.

“I thought it was over,” he says.

Then he grabs Edmund, hauls him up and sets him on the counter, surrounded by ingredients. Disgusting, really. Super hot, honestly. Because he just took him, doesn't bother carrying him to a more convenient place, and- for the first time they'll be facing each other while Peter fucks him.

Edmund's heart actually pangs at the realization. It's also the first time he actually sees his brother's erect dick. And it really is a shame to cover it up with a condom, he's known all along. But it's neither here nor there because Peter steps closer and Edmund spreads his legs and then they're united once again. His stomach flutters upon seeing the look on Peter's face, pure bliss. It's such a relief and it makes Edmund so happy because it's not just a chore then. It can't be.

Peter takes hold of him around his thighs, pulls him harshly forward and then they're really fucking. Punched out breaths, moans and grunts that can't be suppressed. Peter with his eyes closed, losing himself in the moment and Ed remembers. His realization from a few days ago, how he is in love with this person, how happy that makes him, how painful that is, how he can never have him.

Peter opens his eyes and their gazes meet.

“One last time,” he says. “Come for me.”

And despite the pain and the burning desire in his chest, Edmund does, comes all over his own stomach.

As accustomed, Peter is about to pull out but this time Edmund won't allow it. He digs his heels in.

“Keep going, please,” he asks, sniffs and buries his ache, “It's not completely gone yet.”

Peter looks uncertain at him, Edmund never has been able to pass a lie by him. And yet, he steps close again, closer than before. Their faces only a few centimetres apart, sharing the same air, he can feel the gush of Peter's breathing hit his skin and he thinks they could touch foreheads if they wanted, and he thinks about a car ride, their faces only illuminated by the artificial lights of the sleeping city around them. About Peter's face lighting up in Red and Amber and Green again. About how his lips felt. He cups Peter's cheek and remembers Peter telling him how selfish Alphas are and Edmund thinks, so is he- then with a stutter Peter comes and Ed burns that image into his retinas.

 

Fuck. He's so goddamn fucked.

 


	5. le rouge et le noir ne s’épousent-ils pas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> those of you, who caught the reference in chapter 2, probably won't be surprised by who shows up this chapter !
> 
> also I think we're about halfway through now,  
> please enjoy!

„Pevensie,“ the door to the waiting room opens with the nurse's booming voice. A bit ungraceful, as always, Edmund jerks up and over to her. But their customary genteel smile puts him just as quickly at ease. 

“Good morning,” she greets and ushers him right over to room 2.

Inside, Dr. Marlow sits at her desk, same smile running over her lightly wrinkled face as she looks up. Absent-mindedly, Edmund wonders how many more years he has left with her.

“Edmund, how are you?” They both reach over the table to shake hands.

“All's good, thanks.”

“Glad to hear,” then she looks back down to her files. “You're here for a general check-up.”

“Exactly.”

“Anything new? Questions?”

“No, same as always.”

“All right,” Dr. Marlow says and scribbles her signature. “Then undress and take a seat please.”

 

Being at the Omegancologist is literally the safest place any Omega could be and it is always a matter of comfortable breathing once a year when he steps into this atmosphere. The one place on earth where he can be among other people without the nagging in his head about how he looks and sits and all the signals he may be sending. It is refreshing and relaxing. But on the other hand, here he sits, naked from the waist down, legs propped up and spread apart for an elderly woman he's known all his life to peek and prod at his 'baby hole', as his mother explained to him before his first visit. So, yeah, it's never a terrible experience but he's also always glad once it's over.

 

“Cold,” she warns, “try to relax.”

Edmund breathes deep into his abdomen but it's still just short of hurting. She makes small talk all through the procedure. About his school, Oh Uni is already starting for you? How are his sisters, Lucy is doing Shakespeare this year, how very ambitious.

Then the metal utensil is removed and she puts the strip into a quick machine for analysis, as well as into a plastic bag for proper lab work later.

He looks at the beeping thing, wondering if he can get off now, when she already turns back to him and tells him to go right back and get dressed. So he hops off, elation pouring into his stomach. Done for another year.

He's just putting his socks back on, when Dr. Marlow makes a funny noise.

“I say,” she says,” Congratulations are in order it seems.”

“Excuse me?” Edmund replies, head sticking out between the curtains, while behind them he's pulling his pants up.

“You're three weeks pregnant, dear!”

Perplexed, Edmund staggers out to her, shoes forgotten behind.

“I'm sorry but that must be a mistake, I can't possibly...”

“This test is very reliable,” she says, pointing to the monitor, aggressively the word _positive_ blinks at him.

His heart lurches. The panic rises.

“No, you don't understand. I can't-” he stutters, “I can't do this. I can't have a baby!”

Her gaze shifts from happily confused to full on displeased frown.

“I know you're still quite young and maybe you hadn't planned for this yet but-”

“No, I can't! Not like this, please you have to make it go away!”

“Edmund, you need to calm down.”

“No, I'm telling you, I can't have this baby!”

Suddenly, Dr. Marlow gets a very grave expression on her face.

“Has it been conceived through rape?”

“Wha-?” He looks at her stunned because no, of course not but- this is an out. “Yes.”

There's a moment of silence between them before she gets up and crosses the room back to her desk.

“Have you contacted the police?”

“No, I-”

With a bit of force she wrenches a drawer open and gets a paper out.

“You need to give me the name of the perpetrator.”

“What, why? Is that necessary?”

“Edmund, either you tell me who did this to you or there's no way to terminate the pregnancy. You'll have this child.”

He feels the colour drain from his face, the floor opening up. Are these his only choices?

“Please, don't. I can't- I can't do either,” he says weakly.

“Edmund!” she bellows, trying to keep him focused. “Tell. Me. His name.”

“But I can't!” Why won't she understand this?

“Who did this to you?” Her voice is still so loud, aggressive almost. 

Scared, he just mutely shakes his head, stumbling back. She grips the pen in her hand tighter. From behind, the door suddenly flings open; two nurses come in.

“Is there a problem? We've heard yelling,” one says but they both scrutinize Edmund.

“Call the police,” Dr. Marlow says. 

Edmund's eyes go wide, he steps towards her. “No, don't!”

“I'm on it,” the nice one says hurriedly. She opens the door and Edmund runs out of options.

“It's my brother!” he yells, tears of desperation, of fear, spring up. “Peter did this.”

 

With a start his eyes snap open. He has to take a couple of deep, reorienting breaths. Still in his room, everything's dark around him. Peter should be asleep two rooms over. Safe, not rotting in some cell. Then he lets a hand wander under his T-Shirt, feebly touching his tummy. Please, let nothing be growing in there. Please, please, please.

 

As usual Peter slumps into the kitchen with his eyes mostly closed, a huge yawn barely hid by his palm. He gropes for the coffee pot, then a mug and, with another yawn, fills it up. Edmund watches all that fairly detached from the kitchen table. Until Peter makes a noise and spits the coffee back out.

Shit. It must be cold by now, of course. Edmund's been sitting here for... hell, three hours already. Understandably, Peter turns to him for an explanation, his face an adorable frown, then flits into open concern.

“You okay?” he asks, coming over.

Edmund shifts in his seat, showing his back.

“Yeah, I just couldn't sleep. Pretty nervous, you know? First day and all.”

“Mmh,” Peter makes and as feared, his big, warm hand lands on Edmund's shoulder. He tenses up. Peter strokes between his shoulder blades, reassuring, probably not imagining that Edmund could not want him right now. So he turns his head, to look out the windows. Pete gets the hint, then. His hand drops away.

“I'll go get ready,” he says and disappears.

 

Half an hour later, Ed slips into his shoes. Peter is already standing there, fresh coffee in hand. As he gets the door, his arm opens too and Edmund is afraid it'll turn into a hug so he quickly slips by.

 

In the car, Peter tries for some small talk, tells him what to expect today, that he'll make sure to show him around first. Ed barely answers, which prompts a troubled frown from Peter before they get off at the crossroads. The rest of the drive is radio murmur.

 

Once parked, Edmund wastes no time unbuckling and reaching for the door. Peter sits still. Edmund is halfway out of the car, before he notices, and turns around.

“You alright?”

Peter looks at him, then. So very deeply, maybe about to ask the same thing. But then he just smiles carelessly.

“Let's go.”

His hand claws into the steering wheel. Edmund notices but doesn't say anything.

 

They walk at a brisk pace into the building, Edmund slightly lagging behind. Here and there Peter gives a quick nod to acquaintances, the receptionist he greets by name. Edmund makes sure to memorize it.

The elevator goes all the way up to 47. Peter presses 31. The door slides shut and they're alone. Cramped into a shiny, one-wall-mirror box in the air. Edmund thinks about leaning against the handrail, casual and cool, but can't quite bring himself to. Instead stands there rather stiff, next to Peter who flips through messages in his phone. When the door moves up to 22, he glances up, almost as if expecting someone to join them. But the elevator just keeps going. Suddenly, Peter shuts his phone off and, too quickly for Edmund to comprehend, he crowds him backwards against that mirror.

A surprised sound comes out of him, when they hit, when Peter grabs his waist so tightly and brings their crotches together. All he can do is put his hands on Peter's shoulders, on those strong arms and not move, while Peter rubs against him, nuzzles him, scent marks him. Except, this is exactly what he has tried to avoid, so he pushes against that broad chest.

“Peter, don't, not here,” he says feebly and it must seem ridiculous. To Peter, especially, because Edmund is hard, squirming. In the attempt to push his brother off, he's only managing to press them closer together, burying his smaller frame in Peter's mass.

“Please, stop,” he tries again and hates how weak it sounds, how he bunches Peter's shirt in his hands regardless, not pushing him away at all now.

 

Arriving on their floor, Edmund hectically straightens his clothes out. Unbelievably, Peter hasn't a hair out of place and struts right on. The first person he's introduced to is Darlene. A bright, bright smile, frizzy hair, two hands clasping his. Edmund is already looking forward to be working mainly with her.

Then Peter shows him the restrooms, the coffee cart, conference rooms, his office, the boss' office, and finally they circle back.

“And here we have the most important place in the whole building-” Peter pushes a last door open, “the break room.”

Edmund steps inside, it's not much, just as regular and ordinary as any telly show could depict.

“Did they finally demote you, Pevensie?” A guy asks, man bun, trimmed beard, cheeky grin. He comes over and holds his hand out.

“No, Cas,” Peter answers, “Just giving my brother the tour.”

“Brother?” he says with an interested raise of the eyebrow, strong grip when Edmund takes the proffered hand.

“Nice to meet you, I'm Edmund.”

“Caspian,” he replies, still grinning.

A lightbulb goes on over Ed's head.

“You're the guy with that important presentation,” he blurts out. “Peter drenched you in juice or something.”

Caspian's smile freezes on his face. Behind him, Peter snorts.

“Well, I guess you have to get your younger siblings to think you're cool, somehow.”

“Come on, forgive and forget,” Peter says.

Caspian looks nonplussed, “Resent and remember, more like it.” Then he turns his gaze back to Edmund. “Anyway, it was nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, same here,” he says, rather amused.

Just like that they're plunged back into solitude. Edmund scuffs the heel of his shoe.

“Guess, I'll get back to Darlene. Actually work.”

“Me too,” Peter says, hands in his pocket. Hopeful, he looks at his little brother. “Meet you for lunch later?”

“Course.”

As they split to walk into opposite directions, Edmund bumps his shoulder against Peter's arm. It earns him a much more easy-going smile.

 

Darlene shows him the ropes with a lot of patience and a surprising amount of proverbs. The work isn't hard, though, it's mainly about remembering every step for the computer programmes. He'll get the hang of it 'in a jiffy', she beams. Now and then he gets introduced to another employee. He doesn't think he's ever shaken so many Alphas' hands in one day. Still, except for Caspian earlier, he gets no further once-overs. Thanks to Pete, he thinks a bit guiltily.

At noon, Darlene offers to spend the break with him but he apologizes and makes to find Peter instead.

 

In front of his office, he hesitates to knock. Presses his ear to the hardwood first but can't make anything out. Carefully, he raps and pushes the door open.

Pete's on the phone but when he sees his little brother, he smiles and waves him in.

“Yes, Mr. Prescott, the plans should be here by 10.30 tomorrow.”

Interested, Ed looks around. It's not like it's a giant office but it definitely is something. Elegant, professional, minimalistic, yet warm, too. The colours, the paintings, the wood of the desk and filing cabinet, the two huge potted plans, the floor-to-ceiling windows, Peter himself, Ed thinks, watching him.

“All right, I will. Have a good day, Sir.” With that he hangs up, turning all his focus on Edmund. “What are you in the mood for?”

For a horrible second, he thinks about climbing on Peter's chair, on his lap, getting rid of that tie and that shirt to get at the skin underneath.

“Thai?” he suggests.

 

As he works Mondays, Thursdays, and Fridays, he's home the following day and when Peter arrives too, 5.47 pm as usual, Edmund bustles through the apartment with armloads of sheets and blankets and shirts and drapes.

“Did a skunk break in or something?” Peter asks, eyeing the wide open windows all over the flat.

“What?” Edmund yells from the laundry room, “Oh, uh, no, just- cleaning up, sweeping through, haven't done that for a week, so.”

There's no further dialogue coming from Peter, who probably fucked off to his room to relax a minute or is in the kitchen, getting supper ready. Edmund puts in the detergent, picks the programme and kicks the door shut behind him. Then he rushes back to his room, anti-odor spray in hand. On the way, he really glimpses Pete in the kitchen, so he stucks his head in.

“Hey, uh, heads up, Susan and Lucy are gonna come over in like twenty minutes.”

Peter seems genuinely startled.

“Oh,” he says, then, “I need to work on Prescott's assignment, anyway.”

“You really need to? I kinda hoped you'd hang out with us?”

That, on the other hand, startles a smile out of him.

“Alright.” 

 

“Mum says Hi,” is what Lucy opens up with.

“And we're supposed to give you this, if it doesn't fit, she'll order it in another size,” Susan follows that up with a kiss to his freshly scrubbed and perfumed cheek. He should smell like a goddamn cosmetic's department. And he must be, because she gives him a slightly suspicious look, crinkling her nose.

“What, I'm no longer dead to them?” Ed counters, fishing his new winter jacket out of the bag. It'll be a while yet before he can wear it but he thoughtfully touches the lining anyway.

“Well, Dad doesn't say Hi,” Susan answers.

“He just grunted,” Lucy adds.

“Nice,” Edmund says.

Swiftly, he ushers them through the hall and into the living room.

“Geez, Ed, did they shoot a Febreze commercial in here, the air is so fresh it's honestly pungent.”

“Oh, that's all on him, I'm pretty sure he hosed the whole place down and gave it a good bleach afterwards,” Peter answers.

Surprised, their sisters stiffen up. But relax again just as quick.

“Hey, Pete,” Lucy greets and gives him a somewhat awkward hug.

“Look at you, cooking,” Susan says during her turn of cringy embrace.

Edmund twinkles and pops a blueberry into his mouth, “Pete's an excellent chef.”

“Did you guys have dinner, yet? There's enough to go around.”

 

So, Dinner's awkward, interspersed with uncomfortable. Pete does his darndest to be entertaining, retelling stories from work which Edmund's all heard before. Lucy cracks a joke here and there but a lot of them are insiders and go right over Peter's head.

Susan is a bit disgruntled, she doesn't show it though. Normally, she'd prod her little brother with endless jibes of 'So, how was your  _weeeeek_ ?' Stupid little quips, that under present circumstances are wholly unacceptable. Therefore, Edmund, sitting opposite from her, is a cheery fucker, enjoying this cringy debacle immensely.

They don't linger over drinks and when Susan and Lucy get ready to leave, Edmund makes a pretext of having Peter escort them out with the excuse “those beans are seriously making their presence felt,” and rushing away to the bathroom.

 

Incidentally, he actually has to poop, so when he comes back out Peter is well on his way of tackling the dishes. In a good mood, Edmund picks up a towel and joins him, mentioning, “Better not go in there for at least half an hour.”

Peter snorts lightly but his heart isn't in it. For a couple of minutes, they work in uncharacteristic silence. Edmund, not meaning to but still unable to help himself, watches Peter brood. He doesn't like it at all, catches himself wanting to boop his nose with foamy fingers, to squeeze his rubber-gloved hand, to tug him back towards the couch and hold him, stroke his hair.

“Are you really alright?” Peter asks without looking up, bringing Edmund out of his reverie.

“Uhm,” he makes, “I guess so, yeah.”

Suddenly, Peter puts the brush down and faces him, his eyes so insecure.

“Are we alright?”

Edmund opens his mouth, surprised, he doesn't actually know what to say. Then he does, but has to turn away. He can't stand to lie to him when he looks like that.

“Of course, we are,” he averts his eyes, dries the fork between his hands, feels Peter's heavy gaze on him.

He leans over then, his marigolds dripping onto the floor, and Edmund thinks 'he'll kiss me again,' but instead Peter just touches his head to Edmund, holds it there for a moment.

“Okay,” he breathes, “Good.” 

 

Edmund manages to avoid a one-on-one with Susan for almost two weeks, claiming work fatigue or just general busyness as an excuse. When they do meet up, it's always together with Lucy, sometimes even Peter.

He knows how stupid this is, how useless trying to prevent a confrontation. This is Susan, after all. Therefore, true to herself, she texts him the evening before Uni starts.

 

_Come down. I have a surprise for you._

 

_Down where?_

 

_Move it, kiddo._

 

He tells Peter, that he'll be out for a stroll. The only answer is a vague affirmation, he's deeply focused on some project.

 

She stands outside, wind going through her hair, bright red lipstick, well-cut teal summer dress, nylons, heels. A bottle of sparkling wine.

“What's the occasion?” he asks with a cheeky grin.

“My little brother's becoming an adult.”

“Well, isn't that something.”

 

They end up on the swing set of a mostly deserted playground. The sun recedes for the day, leaving behind broad strokes of red and purple and tinted yellow.

At first they don't say much of substance, get boozy instead, throw around a couple of jokes and watch the last kids, stubborn in their want to get the most out of their free time, being repeatedly called inside by their mothers. Then a bellowing father and they scramble. Susan and him snicker to each other, an all too familiar scene.

With the bottle between his hands, and the swing seat between his legs, Ed leans back against the metal string and looks up, watching the giant clouds adorning themselves with muted colours. Susan, the right way on, swings lightly back and forth, her nyloned toes securely grounded the whole time.

“I think I wanna go on the pill,” Ed says to the vast, vast sky.

Despite expecting it, Susan does not halt abruptly, instead she just keeps swaying.

“Yeah? Why's that?”

He takes a swig from the bottle, then hands it over.

“We had pizza delivered one day, during my heat. I almost jumped the guy. So,” he shrugs, “better safe than sorry.”

Now she does stop, looks at him unidentifiable.

“Ed.”

“Mh?”

“Did Peter do something, he shouldn't have?”

He inhales deeply through his nose, then shakes his head.

“No,” the clouds, in their enormity, have something rather threatening actually, “No, he didn't do anything.”

 

Half an hour later he says goodbye to her next to the waiting cab. Instead of their customary and well-loved hugs, she cups his face and plants a kiss on him.

“I told you before,” she says, smudging her lipstick off him, “don't be naïve.”

 

On the elevator ride up, he checks his phone. Six missed calls from Peter. He doesn't dial back until he gets to the apartment and finds it empty. It rings only once.

“Ed? Where are you? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I was just out, had my phone on mute, sorry, I didn't mean-”

“You're okay?” Peter asks again, relief filtering through the panic in his voice.

“I'm okay, I'm home now.”

There is hard breathing coming through the static.

“Pete?”

“Yeah,” he says, “I'm still here.”

“Come home.”

 

Edmund sits on the couch, thick socks, steaming cup of tea in his hands, which he blows on, when he hears the door opening. Peter doesn't come in running, instead he meticulously takes his shoes off, puts his keys away, shuffles quietly. He must feel foolish, embarrassed even, by his overreaction. Edmund waits.

“You were gone for so long,” Peter says, his hair a mess. He leans against the door frame as if he's not sure whether he's allowed to approach.

“An hour and a half, maybe.”

“Where were you?”

“With Susan.”

Tension rumbles out of Peter. “Oh.” He slinks forward then, into the room, throws himself next to Edmund. They're touching, barely, but Edmund still moves away. When he takes a sip he almost scalds his tongue, consequently he puts the mug down.

“You know, Pete, I lied,” he confesses, “When I said, I was alright.”

Peter encircles his ankle with his fingers. With a heavy heart, he lets it happen.

“And I don't mean that I'm angry with you or that I'm afraid or anything. I'm just confused, mostly, and-”

Peter lets go of him only long enough to wrestle Edmund under him. He yelps a bit, surprised to be held down like this, to be held so tight, like this.

“Pete?” he asks. Quiet. Unsure.

The only answer he gets is the strengthening of Peter's arms around him. The warm feeling of Peter pressing his face along his neck. He never was much of a talker, this brother of his.

“Pete,” he says again, sighs it almost. He's heartbroken with the effort not to reach out himself. Heartbroken by what he's going to do instead.

“What you and I did... that can never happen between us again,” he says, acutely aware of Peter's uneven breathing, his ribcage stuttering against his. He can't help it then, he fists his hands into Peter's back and sniffs, ”I have to find a mate for me.”

 


	6. je ferai un domaine où l’amour sera roi

University is like school, except the teachers use the informal address and everyone suddenly seems like a grown-up. Everyone except himself, that is. Because, personally, he feels like a first grader if anything. Kindergartener, possibly. And frankly, he'd like a proper adult's supervising hand to hold onto. But, as previously observed, everyone else seems to get on wonderfully by themselves. So Edmund resolves to fake it. The whole adult thing. Whatever.

He finds all the coffee places, learns how to get food at the Mensa, applies for a library card, becomes lost four times a day on his way to classes, and repeats the same incessant small talk of who are you, what do you study, where do you come from, with whoever sits down next to him. It's about two weeks later when he gets coffee by that one stand behind the science building, the only one on campus that's actually fair trade, walks with his head buried in last week's notes to class and once there chats to Sophie about how she and her girlfriend solved that bug problem in their shitty flat on the fifth floor without an elevator, and he has an inkling he's slowly arrived in this new part of his life and secretly he's really fucking excited about it.

 

That day Edmund also finds the courage to go up to Aravis. She's an alpha doing the same coursework, has really fierce eyes, who were once intimidatingly narrowed at him when he dared to pick apart her argumentation, her sense of dressing is simple and elegant, fitting midi skirts and harsh-cut blouses, that betray her wealthy upbringing.

Basically, and most importantly, she's as different from Peter as possibly imaginable.

 

When he sidles up to her after class she grants him an unimpressed sideways glance and no slowing down of her blue minted Tamaris pumps. While trying to keep up with her and still getting his message out comprehensibly, he has to shoulder past a couple of unsuspecting students. The omegas see them coming and step away, the betas and especially the alphas give that whole scene blank expressions, a grin at most.

 

“So, I was thinking maybe we could hang out sometime and go over our notes in the cafeteria or-”

Suddenly, she halts, throws an almost annoyed glance to her watch and then stares at the perplexedly gaping Edmund.

“Fine, I guess I am kind of hungry.”

“Uh...”

“You may accompany me to the Mensa,” she says rather pointedly.

“Oh, like, right now, you mean?”

For another awful second she looks him down. Then simply struts on. Edmund follows, grossly intimidated.

 

Aravis knows nothing of small talk, or if she does, she probably dismissed it as useless during her infancy. Instead, she drills him about topics he's pretty sure they'll won't come across until their senior year.

After that half hour lunch, she leaves him behind with a decisive “Reserve a window seat tomorrow.” No goodbye, no nothing. Edmund stares after her a long time, blinking and dumbfounded.

 

It's about two weeks worth of lunch dates that their relationship builds (in the classes they share, she sits down next to him, too. If already occupied, she'll stare whoever's talking to him so furiously into the back of the head, that they all get a sudden attack of nerves and leave voluntarily). During all that time, Aravis lets few personal things slip, yet even scarcer are any nice words or smiles. She's rather something, that Aravis, he's tried to explain to Susan and Lucy once.

Still, in an effort to ignite some kind of interest in her he pulls out all the stops. Batting eyelashes, pulling out her chair, showing off his few muscles, bragging about his household skills and good family. She accepts all that with the irritated benevolence of a cooler, older cousin suffering through the first crush from a younger family member.

Frankly, he finds that rather insulting. He's a good catch! He's bloody desirable!

So, the next day he plucks up his courage one more time and he'll meet up with her, coming five minutes later because who does she think he is, certainly not a convenience for her to secure a good table, he'll slam his palms down and tell her “We're going to go on a proper date, dammit!”

What actually happens though, is that on his way to the Mensa - he can already see her sitting at a table in the middle of the room, disgruntled, staring at her watch - he gets unexpectedly blocked. A shivering omega boy stands before him. Like, he's literally shaking, Like, figuratively, his ears are down, his tail between his legs and yet his hands are fists and he looks Edmund directly in the eyes.

“Don't get any ideas about Ari, do you hear me?!”

“Um,” makes Edmund.

“I've known her since childhood and maybe it'll take her awhile until she realises but she and I are meant to be together and I'm not going to give her up to somebody like you!” 

He's huffing with anxiety and adrenaline and Ed is seriously hard pressed not to ruffle his hair and coo at him. He collects himself enough to rasp and put his hands into his pockets.

“Can I still be friends with her?”

The boy gives him a glare, then turns around.

“She's too cool for you!” he yells as he dashes off ahead. He doesn't actually forbid him, though.

At the table, the boy sits almost in Aravis' lap.

“Don't you have classes?” she asks him, “Your grades hardly allow for time wasted on leisure .”

 

Turns out the little rascal is called Cor, he's a high-school senior and he's attached to Aravis ever since they were eight years old and she made sure that Cor's abusive father would never touch him again. Also, he is the reason Ed gets to see her smile for the first time. A startling, hidden little expression of delight. It is solely directed at Cor.

 

Later, when he bounds down the steps to get on his way home, he is met with another sight entirely. Peter, leaning against his black car in the glinting sunlight. He has sunglasses on, but when he glimpses Ed his whole face shines with a bright grin. Ed's heart somersaults.

“I'm glad I still caught you,” he says. “I was out for a late lunch with a client. I thought I'd pick you up.”

Ed feels as much as he sees how the people around them stare. How Peter looks like. And Ed wants to push him back against the hood and kiss and kiss and kiss him. He's mine, he belongs to me. His smile and his happiness, they're all for me. But he doesn't have Cor's unwavering trust in his eventual happy end. He only has the assurance that he can never have this and the lonely ache that that knowledge brings to his heart.

“I'm so beat, I just wanna go to bed,” Ed exclaims as he gets into shotgun. “You could have seriously warned me about how much the workload would be.”

“I did.”

“You could have warned me more.”

Peter only chuckles, shakes his head. Ed looks out the window.

 

“Lucy wants to see some two-bit amateur piece in that community theatre she goes to sometimes,” Ed says, fiddling with the radio stations. “I thought maybe you could take her.”

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

For a moment there's no response, Peter's face curled in that cute way he has when he's slightly confused.

“I don't really... know anything about theatre.”

“What's there to know,” Ed shrugs. “You just go and watch people tell you a story.”

“What's it about?”

“Don't remember really. She showed me a flyer, I think it was some experimental take on... the Ice Queen... or something.”

“Sounds interesting,” Peter says with a clear hint of sarcasm. Edmund ignores it.

“It's this Friday at eight twenty, I think. I'll ask her again.”

 

On the following Sunday evening Ed storms into Peter's study, halfway wrangled into a jacket and says,”Hey, wanna go to the Italian for dinner?”

A bit startled, Pete looks up at him, then to the clock on his computer screen.

“Sure.”

“Awesome, the reservation is in half an hour so you should go get dressed,” Ed says, bustling away again. “I'll text Susan and Lucy that you're coming.”

“They'll eat with us?” Peter calls through the flat.

“It's just the three of you!” Ed yells back, then,”We've had these vouchers from when we went to the Art showing of Tabitha Yutchenko? I told you about that. Anyway, we forgot all about them until yesterday and today is the last day they're valid.”

Now, Peter stands in the hall with him, watching Edmund slip on his shoes.

“Then why aren't you going?”

“I meant to but Darlene just called, she said one of the machines is backed up and the formatting for the printer is all wrong and blahblah, I'm heading over there now for damage control.”

“Want me to drive you?”

“Oh no, don't bother,” he dismisses, grabbing his keys. “Just enjoy yourself with the girls and bring back some of the bread rolls for me!”

Meandering down the stairs, Ed first texts his sisters, who answer with sympathetic 'We can just go another time. Screw the vouchers.'

But he is adamant, they're saving 20 percent per meal!

He takes the bus into town, pops his headphones on and stares out the speckled windows to some melancholic tunes, wondering how he should spend the evening. Maybe he'll just go watch that pirate movie a second time.

 

The next week he gets Peter to help Susan with an essay she's been complaining about for a month while Edmund conveniently falls asleep in the bath. With a locked door and loud music, he hears neither discreet knocking nor his phone. He's not actually asleep either, instead he's blasting through  _Piano Tiles 2,_ ignoring incoming texts and calls.

 

A day after that Lucy comes over because the two of them wanna get all perfect gold trophies in  _Mario Kart Double Dash._ But Ed, unfortunately, burned his thumb and pointer finger while making lunch so Peter has to take over and play with her. He has them on the couch, while Ed lounges on the bean bag, stuffing his face with candy and mocking them for every shitty drift and missed green shell opportunity. They don't get any gold trophies that day.

Also Ed has a feeling that slowly his siblings are picking up on his intentions. He takes it on faith though that they won't confront him about it for at least another two weeks. Certainly not if he won't give them the opportunity to.

 

Curse Peter then for not adhering to Edmund's cunning.

 

At the end of the week, which is also the end of the month, he just jogs up the last couple of steps when the door to the flat opens with Peter seeing Susan and Lucy out.

“Yeah, sorry, I don't know where he- Oh, look who it is,” their older brother says as he sees Edmund coming.

“Ed!” Susan admonishes right away, “We've been waiting for you for over an hour!”

“Where on earth were you?” Lucy chimes in.

“I was out with some friends from Uni,” he says. “Why?”

“We wanted to watch the _Don't Tell The Bride_ marathon!”

“Oh shit, was that today?”

Instead of an answer they just glare at him annoyed. Peter looks like he'd love nothing more than to silently retreat back inside.

“We can still watch it? We've only missed like the first episode, right?”

Susan just sighs.

“Honestly, I'm not in the mood anymore. I'd rather just go home.”

“Me too,” Lucy says.

“Look, I'm sorry,” Ed says, their obvious disappointment an uncomfortable twinge in his stomach. “I'll make it up to you. Promise.”

“Don't bother,” Susan says and hugs him goodbye. “It's just a stupid show.”

Lucy punches him in the arm before hugging him too. “Actually look at your phone once in a while, that's all we're asking.”

 

Once inside, Peter leans against the dresser in the hall, watching Edmund undress.

“So, what's all this about?”

“What do you mean?” Ed asks nonchalant.

“Ed.”

“What?”

They stare each other down for a moment. It's a game that Ed is all too good at. Except when it's Peter as his opponent. Then his success rate drops to an inconvenient 50/50.

“You can stand to spend some time with them,” Edmund finally says, walking right past Peter with his nice arms crossed over his even nicer chest. “They are your sisters, too, you know.”

“I do know that,” Peter replies, following him to his room. “I'm just wondering why you feel like you need to trick me into it.”

Edmund stops what he's doing – rummaging around for his phone charger – to give Peter a look.

“Like you'd ever do it on your own accord, you mean?”

Caught, Peter huffs.

“It's just...”

“Unbearably cringey, maddeningly awkward?” Ed suggests. “Yeah, no shit, but it's not gonna get better by avoiding it. Or using me as a buffer, for that matter.”

As Peter mulls it over, Ed finally plucks his phone in, swiping through all his ignored alerts.

“You really want me to hang out with them?” his doofus brother asks.

“No,” answers Ed,”what I really want is for you to want to hang out with them.”

There's another moment of reluctant silence with Peter staring at him but Edmund is too cautious now to allow himself to stare back.

“Fine,” Peter eventually says, then retreats with a,”You had dinner, yet?”

“Yeah, Sophie and me shared- Oh, by the way,” he calls to him. Remembering something, he fishes a small envelope out of his bag.

Peter sticks his head back in, “What?”

“I finally got my pay check,” he grins, presenting it triumphantly. Peter mirrors the expression but makes no move of wanting to inspect it.

“That's awesome.”

“I know,” Ed beams at it as if it were his firstborn. “So anyway, now that I actually got some money I want to shoulder my share.”

“Ah,” Peter says vaguely.

“So, how much is it?”

“How much is what?”

“The rent, dumdum.”

“Oh. Um. Wouldn't you know, I have no idea actually.”

Confused, Edmund stares at him. “You don't know?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, slinking backwards again. “My bank transfers it automatically, I'd have to look it up.”

“Well, do that!” Edmund calls, more baffled than anything.

 

For some reason, and despite what he said, Peter continues not to. Claiming however often 'Sorry, forgot. I'll stop by tomorrow.' Only he never does and when Ed is about to explode because of how frustrating this is, asking 'Can't you just look it up online?' Peter only babbles something about his bank being one of the older models, where the woman handling the main affairs has, as long as Peter's known her, used her fingers for counting and sounds to be about 120 years old.

“You're having a bloody laugh,” Edmund insists aghast.

Peter just shrugs, “It has its charm.”

 

Basically, Edmund has to become that sort of nagging, heckling, pain in the arse person, a role usually reserved for Susan (and of which they all love to make fun of in various hilarious imitations) but apparently he has a hidden knack for as well because at the end of the week Peter presents him with a sloppily, fake-looking bank account statement that if Ed were an FBI profiler, he'd be sure must have been written on some kind of ancient typewriter. But going off of the tangent that Peter's bank of choice is indeed as ludicrous as it sounds, he inspects it without another word.

It's kinda low, though, Edmund thinks, staring at the numbers. Like, he's not an expert concerning the housing market but, it's kinda low.

Thrusting it back at his brother, he says, “You forgot to include water and heating cost.”

That surely accounts for it.

“No, it's added in there,” Peter says, except he doesn't meet Edmund's eyes and pretends to be awfully busy with setting up his laptop.

Ed stems his hands into his hips. “Peter Herman Pevensie, quit taking me for a fool. And tell me already how high the goddamn rent is!”

“It says it right there!”

“Peter, I'm serious.”

“So am I.”

As hard as Edmund stares, Peter stares just as innocently back. Throwing the 'statement' back into his brother's face, Edmund turns on his heels and spits, “I'll take the bus tomorrow.”

 

And he does. Leaves the house before Peter's alarm even goes off. Ignores any texts and attempts to accost him during work. When, infallibly, he does get cornered and Peter mutters out unrelated topics because apparently he thinks Ed will be pissed for a while and then things will be just as before, which he is so wrong about and Edmund demonstrates that by answering any inquiries and efforts at casual conversation with an icy, “How much is the rent.”

Which, also inevitably, leads to Peter reacting in one of four fashions: irritated, grim, at a loss, or defeated. None of them result in an actual, correct answer though, which means Ed has only one option left; Find that shit out himself.

 

Peter catches him like this: squatting in his study, surrounded by an armada of envelopes with their spilled out contents, folders haphazardly leafed through, loose papers and post-it notes everywhere. Also a smug grin because Ha! Found it!

Peter, shoulders heaving with a huge sigh, watches as Edmund's expression goes from triumphant to gobsmacked.

It's more than twice his salary. He'd need two more jobs if he wanted to stem a proper share  _and_ keep some money to spare.

“Damn...,” Ed says eventually. “I should switch to Business school.”

“Look,” Peter says, bending down to collect the fallout. “Can we just ignore that and you pay half of what I'd shown you?”

“I don't want to ignore it.”

“Come on, Ed, what does it matter? It's not like I need your money.”

“But maybe I need it!” he yells now. “Maybe I don't want to leech off of you! Maybe I hate housework and cooking and living like this!”

“I never asked you to do any of that.”

“Right, then why am I here?”

“Ed.”

“No, seriously. Did you only coax me here to piss off our parents as some fucked up revenge that they threw you out? Or am I just- just-” _a convenient fuck,_ he thinks horrified.

Peter makes to grab him. Edmund ruthlessly pushes him off.

“Stop fucking touching me!”

Again, Peter's hand twitches forward. Edmund steps back, snarls, “Fucking stay away.”

Only then, Peter lets him be.

 

That whole episode launches them into a stalemate of avoidance and non-communication. They get to work separately, each of them buys their own groceries, they eat at different times of day, there's no more lazing about on the sofa at weekends. It's pretty fucking terrible. But stubbornness is a time-honed family trait.

Instead of trying to smooth things over with his brother, Ed concentrates on another important aspect of his social life that he absolutely excels at; Dating.

 

Dating continues to be the worst. Since Ed signed up for a string of Apps he is daily occupied with cleaning out his inbox messages full of inappropriate comments and outright traumatising proposals. Once in a while he comes across some seemingly decent profiles. Some of them are even fun to chat with, others are the equivalent of a huge yawn. Those that do sort of click eventually ask him out. Every single one of those dates, however, end disastrous.

 

There was this one guy with a weird obsession for socks. Another one who continually straightened his tie, until he got so blue in his face, Edmund thought he is going to keel over into his appetizer. He's not sure he would have alerted staff right away.

There was one girl, who stared him down for ten minutes straight, without saying a word (without having said 'hello' even!) the rest of the date was pleasant enough that they decided to meet again. Same time, same game. Silent staring. They did not see each other a third time.

One specifically scarring encounter was with a woman, who'd obviously used old photos on her profile. Ed expected someone at about 27. This lady was definitely nearing 50. Turned out she was late thirties with an almost impressive drug abuse history. Which she told him all about with cigarette stained teeth and a smoke-hewn voice.

His latest date had all around set out to be great. The dude, Reed his name, was witty over text, charming in person, ate and talked naturally, asked Edmund about his interests, used a lot of follow-up questions and volunteered funny, self-deprecating stories about himself. And though he may not been classically handsome, nose too big, crowded teeth, he had seemed comfortable with his plainness. It wasn't until they left the restaurant and went on a little walk that things dissolved. They were talking animatedly, when suddenly a group of drunk friends unwittingly bumped into Ed. They apologized roaringly and Reed had caught Edmund against his side, so no harm done really, except he smelled like him. Reed used the same aftershave. Peter's brand.

He texts him the next morning that while he had enjoyed himself, he just doesn't think they'd be right for each other. Reed is disappointed but understanding.

_You've been like the most normal person I've ever gone on a date with. So, it's a bummer honestly. All the luck for the future, though._

This message is as nice as it is alarming. When Ed had set out with the goal to find a mate, he had done it in the good hopes that it wouldn't be too much of a headache. Course Susan's been a prime example of encountering weirdos and freaks but those were all betas, he thought. Alphas are a different matter. Pretty stupid of him, to believe they'd all be more or less like Peter. That anyone could be like him.

 

A couple days later Edmund's in the break room at work, talking to Susan on the phone. She's threatening to buy him pheromone enhancer if he doesn't step up his game.

“Oh yeah, I'm sure Peter will appreciate his flat stinking like a brothel.”

“ _What's he saying about all this, anyway? Doesn't he have some buddies he could introduce you to?”_

“I... can't imagine him being a great help in that regard, honestly.”

“ _Why not?”_

“I don't know, it'd be kinda awkward.”

She keeps blabbering in his ear but somebody else just came in, so Edmund makes quick work of hanging up on her. It's Caspian, looking at Edmund with amusement like he always does. Out of courtesy, Edmund gives him a nondescript smile and then excuses himself.

“Having an overprotective brother like that sure is a pain in the arse, hm?” he quips, pouring himself a cup of coffee, which, he will in a second realize, is stale as shit. Edmund is too affronted to reply.

“Peter's the one who's been sabotaging your forays into the mating scene, love,” he continues, and actually twinkles as he says,”can't really fault him though can I, with such a cute little brother. Who wouldn't want to keep that around.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

Caspian just grins, “Can't say I'm surprised. Pevensie sure is sneaky when he wants to be. You know, I have it on good authority that our dear Petey has been chasing off a good portion of your potential suitors.”

Instantly, Edmund is reminded of the situation with Joey some weeks back. They had just been chatting friendly at the coffee cart when Joey suddenly threw a glance over Edmund's shoulder, balked, and slunk off. Ed himself couldn't spot anything that might have caused that reaction but Joey sure has kept his distance since then.

“I don't just mean here in the office,” Caspian says, “Pete made fake profiles on all kinds of dating apps making sure the only people messaging you are dicks and freaks.”

“He would never do that.”

“Is that so?” he says, moving into Edmund's space. “Wanna try a little experiment?”

“If that's what it takes to keep your mouth shut, then be my guest.”

“Brilliant,” he says with a smirk and splays one hand into Edmund's hair.

Just then Peter comes in.

He halts in the door for a moment, certainly surprised to see them both, to catch them standing so close together. Edmund takes a deliberate step away.

“Hey,” he says.

“Petey-pie,” Caspian greets.

“What are you guys up to?” Peter asks warily, making his way over to the coffee pot. He, at least, checks the temperature before draining the contents and preparing a fresh one.

“Oh, you've only interrupted this clandestine meeting of ours,” Caspian jokes, “Had you come in a minute later you'd surely had caught us in _flagranti.”_

Edmund rolls his eyes. Peter doesn't react, at all, just mutters a general “Right,” and keeps spooning in the powder.

Edmund exchanges a silent conversation with Caspian, hoping this ludicrousness was done and over with now.

“Well,” Caspian says, clapping his hands together, “I best get back to work. Peter,” he nods, “My petal,” he says to Edmund, who looks entirely unimpressed, and then strides past.

Or so Edmund thinks. Instead, Caspian surprises him by pushing Edmund back against the fridge and kissing him. Almost, kissing him. Before he can Peter is there. Yanking him off. And as startled as Edmund is, he also recognizes the flash of brutality in his brother. He reaches out, meaning to stall him but it's too late. With a sickening crack Caspian's head whips around, Peter's fist following.

“What the- Are you crazy?!” Edmund yells, pushing Peter off and away.

“Christ, Pevensie, I was just mucking about,” Caspian complains from where he's slumped to the floor. Edmund can feel Peter's barely suppressed thrumming rendering him mute next to him and as much as his instincts scream to get him out of there and take care of him, Edmund instead kneels down and helps Caspian.

“Go find a first-aid kit or something,” Edmund snaps at Peter, trying to locate the source of the gushing blood. “Are you okay?”

He can imagine the expression on Peter's face but at least he does leave.

“Told you,” says Caspian and dabs gingerly at his lip.

 

Like the shithead he is, Peter flees the scene. No one knows where he went, he doesn't answer any of Edmund's texts and calls either. So home alone he goes, dabbles listlessly around but feeling overall too shitty to actually do anything, he ultimately calls up his sisters.

“Oh, you're sure you can make time for us? You're not too busy?”

“Lucy, please, you can't be the sarcastic one, you're destroying our whole sibling dynamic.”

 

They get drunk on screwdrivers in the park.

“I can't believe it's the first time we hang out in literal _years_ and you get us pissed three sheets to the wind,” Susan slurs.

“Yeah,” Lucy agrees, her plastic cup sloshing, “and you still won't tell us what got you so grumpy in the first place!”

“Because 'm not grumpey,” Ed says, arguably the worst of them all. “And we do hang out! All the times!”

“Yeah, with Peter,” says Susan.

“And that's shit,” says Lucy.

“Wha-?” says Ed, all wide-eyed. “It still is? Oh man.”

“Of course it still is, I don't even know why he keeps inviting us to places.”

“Because he wants to get to know you, he likes spending time with you!”

Both his sisters let out hefty snorts.

“What? He always tells me you had a lovely time.”

“Liaaaar,” Susan accuses, then burps.

“Come on, I'm sure it's a bit weird but with time...”

“He doesn't even care, Ed,” Lucy claims, “He's totally absent-minded most of the time. I don't think he's very interested in either Susan or me.”

“Yeah but with you- oh damn, he snaps right to attention when we talk about you. You're his faaaavouritest person,” she lolls and drains her cup. “Whatever. I'm my own favourite person, too.”

“Aw, then whose favourite am I?” Lucy whinges.

“I'm my own favourite and Lucy is also my favourite,” Susan amends.

Edmund stares into his drink “Why would he lie to me?”

“Alphas, Ed,” Susan shrugs, “They're all selfish arseholes.” 

 

The next day he'd actually reserved for cleaning but he's too hungover and anyway Susan keeps texting him in 15 minute intervals.

_I hate you._

_Omg I hate you so much_

_You're the worst_

_I fucking hate you so fucking much_

She always had a weak stomach.

 

When he does eventually get around to the cleaning, he does it thoroughly. Yet has a split-second gut feeling that tells him to skip Peter's room. He doesn't listen to it. So this is what he gets: Sitting on Peter's bed, staring at old newspapers. Firstly, of course, he wonders why Peter, who always reads the news on his Ipad, would even have these? So he flips through and lo and behold, there he finds red marks circling out a bunch of apartments. Pretty cheap apartments. The money would be tight but Ed could afford them. Alone.

 

On Friday he has an appointment with Dr. Marlow. She prescribes the pill and then injects him with heat hormones. It won't be as strong as a natural one but he does need to remember to start taking the pill about three days into it.

He's glad, that when he leaves, no one is trying to stop him or calls the cops. They can't see it then, the way he's tainted, marked, by his brother.

 

When Ed gets home, he can smell that Pete is there, too. It's unusual, maybe Caspian had him fired. But Edmund doesn't feel like finding out. Instead, he heads for the shower, get the stink of the last week and its whole mess off of him.

An hour later when he gets out, the first symptoms have already started. He slips into Peter's bathrobe and then enters his room without knocking. He's sitting on the bed, propped up against the headboard, notebook in his lap, socked feet on the covers. Ed picks up a newspaper and shimmies onto the bed next to him. They haven't been like this since his last heat, two whole months ago.

“So what's this about?” Ed asks, opening the paper up to the delicate part.

Peter closes his laptop and pulls the paper slightly over to him, so they can both look at it.

“This place here is a shithole but it has a big bathroom and it's close to work. This one is an even bigger shithole but it has a pretty garden and a balcony. This one's... okay actually. So is that one. That one is honestly too small and also the stairs creak abysmally.”

“Did you view all of them?”

“I've been suspended for a week, I've had time.”

“Oh,” Edmund makes big eyes. “I didn't even know.”

_We haven't exactly been talking much lately,_ hangs silently in the air.

“So you're looking for a new place? I don't get it, this flat is amazing.”

“You want to pay half the rent,” Peter simply says. “This place means nothing to me if you're not happy.”

There are more things they should talk about – but the fact is, they don't actually need to, Ed doesn't need to. Because despite what Susan may think he's never been naïve about him, about this, about them. Quite the opposite. He ran headlong into it – eyes open and arms wide – he just hadn't thought that Pete- that he, too- He loves Peter, is in love with him and Peter, his stupid, selfish brother, feels the same. How terrible. How utterly disastrous.

 

Ed shoves the laptop out of the way and Pete just lets him, watches doe-eyed as Edmund straddles him and lets the robe fall off around his shoulders, exposing rabidly pebbling skin, the heavy sweetness of his slick.

Peter's fingers twitch with the desire to touch and this time Edmund picks them up, presses one against his chest, guides the other around for Peter to feel how wet he is. His breath hitches when Edmund rolls his hips forward. The finger slips in and already Ed can't stand it anymore. He tugs at the soft, grey cotton of Peter's pants, sticks his hands in, has to bite his lip when he finds him half-hard. He's never touched it before but he's hungered for it all the same. And his slow jerks aren't as explorative as they are deliberate.

This whole time Peter does not take his eyes off of him, Edmund feels the burn of it staining his cheeks. Still, he cooperates well enough when Edmund tugs the pants even lower and levers himself up. That moment, when he aligns Peter's cock with his hole, when he's secure in Peter's warm hands, that's when he finally returns the gaze. Meeting the vulnerable wonder in his brother's eyes as he sinks down on that glorious cock. It punches a moan out of him. And Peter looks so undone, so heart-achingly ruined that Edmund has to do it. He cups Peter's face and kisses him.

“This time,” he breathes, “don't hold back.”

 

Apparently, those are the magic words because suddenly the hands on him close tight. Peter flips them over, presses Edmund's frame into the mattress and his cock deeper inside, forcing his hips to tilt up in order to accommodate him.

“Ed, I-” he starts but can't finish because Edmund kisses him again. He's longed for these lips, for this beautiful mouth but more urgently, he knows he won't be able to bear it; to hear those words from him. Not now. Not ever.

 

He made his choice, he'll have this one last time and afterwards he will leave. He'll break Peter's heart. He'll break his own, too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry.


	7. à coups de pourquoi

The bus is full of party night stragglers, which is not at all surprising, seeing as it is 2 am on a Saturday morning. They're rowdy, yell and laugh in shrieks. But they're young so it is only natural. At least it's the rear part they occupy, leaving him to sit alone up front. He'd been a little worried at first that someone might accost him but he must be giving off some stay-away pheromones instead. People keep their distance.

It's no wonder probably, he's a boy buried in a dark, pulled up hoodie, reeking of heat and misery. A guaranteed mix for trouble. If he'd had his headphones on, the picture would be perfect. He hadn't had time to grab them though. Just slipped into his clothes, made sure he had his wallet and was out of there.

Peter was asleep,  _is_ asleep, the pills Edmund had stirred into his water made sure of that. It pains him enough to remember him lying there, barely covered by a blanket, his arms loosely stretched out from where he had held Edmund so tightly. He chokes back a sob, digs his fingernails into his throat, forcing himself not to fucking cry right now. Still, his eyes sting and his mouth trembles, so he bites down.

He can still feel him, too. Flashes of his burning touches, the heated gaze devouring him, those silken sounds leaving his mouth and the way he kept saying his name.  _Ed,_ he kept saying.  _Ed, Ed, Ed._ As if he'd never been allowed before, as if all the things he felt could be contained in this one syllable of his brother's name.

And Ed himself, so torn. Holding onto Peter so tightly, embarrassed by his own wantonness and his inability to keep quiet. How he cried out and begged and whispered for Peter, for his body and for his love.  _Again, Peter, again, again, again. Love me harder. Give me more of you._ Until, in the end, when they were so exhausted already, both on their sides and tenderly rocking together, with his brother slowly nodding off, he had found himself wholly unable to utter anything else than this, too:  _Pete. Pete, Pete, Pete._ Cupping his face, touching foreheads and sweaty hair strands mingling, wringing the last bit out of him. And still he looked so happy, so unabashedly, deliriously happy.

 

He feels so faint-headed that he almost stumbles out of the bus, trying to take a deep breath through his constricting lungs, he forces himself to keep walking away. Step for impossible step. Until he opens the little, creaky garden gate and finds himself pressing the bell because he didn't think he'd ever need his keys again.

Lights jump on singularly, a beacon wandering from room to room and Ed shivers in the night air. There's the rustle of the lock and then the door opens and it's his father standing before him, dressing gown over pyjamas. The vigilant, mistrusting gaze grows into surprise, then uncertain concern. Ed literally can't say a thing, he knows what'll happen when he tries. Silently, too, his father steps aside, revealing his mother huddling at the end of the hall. Her mouth opens in a toneless gasp.

“ _Mum_ ,” Ed says, cries really. And she comes and gets him, holds him and lets him bawl. A second later he feels the heavy hand of his father, protective on his head.

 

Steadying him against her side, she brings him up to his room. Puts him into bed and strokes his hair as he keeps weeping, his breath not ceasing to hitch. Outside he can hear his father lowly conversing with Lucy but it's only him who comes in a moment later, hot cocoa and the family's I'm-sick-and-need-to-be-coddled extra fluffy blanket in hand. Then he sits down on his son's other side, rubbing his back.

When Edmund eventually falls asleep, they're still there.

 

Hours later he wakes up, his eyes feeling puffy and hard to open, the pillow is damp beneath him and his throat awfully dry. But none of that woke him up. It's his phone vibrating. Since the world is still dark he has a hard time adjusting to the bright screen. Although, he could probably guess who's trying to reach him. Still, the caller ID makes him howl out in pain and fresh tears erupt even while he shuts his phone off. His reaction is entirely normal, he reasons, he is hormonal after all, add to that this heartbreak and there's really no one who can blame him for bawling into his pillow, biting his fist and clawing his chest. He hurts. He hurts all over.

 

Late that same morning he gets up out of bed. His reflection in the mirror freezes him but doesn't shock. It should though. Eyelids swollen, circles deep underneath, a permanent flush to his cheeks, contrasting sickly with the sallowness of the rest of his skin. His hair isn't dirty but stands up in all directions. He doesn't have the energy trying to smooth it down. There's only brushing his teeth and splashing his face before he has to trudge back, continue existing, in his bed.

 

His mum is there, she's just freshening his sheets, exchanging even the pillow. A tray of food is left on his desk. He isn't hungry but too tired to stand so he sits down in front of it, until the bed will be free again.

“Morning, darling,” she greets him warmly, soothing voice. “How are you feeling?”

Still coming up empty with possible explanations, he just nods, having to work around that stupid knot in his throat every time he thinks about him.

“There's camomile tea in there, try to have some, will you?”

Again, he nods but can't actually move, his arms are lead weight. She comes over and pours it for him. Then she presses his temple to her belly, stroking his hair.

“Lucy doesn't want to go to her rehearsals today, she says she'll rather stay here even if you aren't up to seeing her yet.”

Not knowing what to say he just stays mute. Mum interprets it anyway, taking up the cup and hovering it in front of his face.

“How about half of it and then we'll get you back to bed?”

He manages a third and falls into a fitful sleep as soon as he hits the fresh linen.

 

The next time he wakes up it's early evening and he can hear muffled voices from outside his room. Dumb enough to believe it could be Peter he slowly sits up and tries to bring himself a bit in order. But then he recognizes the indignant pitch in Susan's voice and their father's conflicted but stern rumble.

He falls back into bed, finds he can't sleep any more, and ultimately gets up. The can kept the tea surprisingly hot. He manages a whole cup this time. There are some soft buns waiting for him too, he munches them bare, too exhausted with bothering to put anything on it.

There comes a quiet knock and then Susan's face peeks into the room.

Ed can already tell she's furious. It's also somehow sobering to realize his whole family knows exactly what must have happened. They know him well, they do.

“God, I'm so furious with you!” she says and struts right up to him. 

“I know.”

“I've given you so many opportunities to tell me the truth! I would have helped you!”

“I know.”

“All this didn't have to happen – not like this!”

“I know.”

“God, I'm furious!”

“I know.”

She stares at him, speechless, disappointed. One hand goes through her hair, the other stemmed into her hip.

“But I'm even more furious with Mum and Dad and myself. Christ!”

That gets him to look up.

“It's not your fault.”

“We could have prevented this.”

He can't even begin to argue against that so he just throws her a look that he hopes can speak for him. She sits down on the edge of his bed, near enough that they could touch feet.

“Ed, I have to tell you something. Something Dad had made Mum and me swear never to tell you, which I've always thought was stupid and now after what's happened I definitely see no point in keeping it from you any longer.”

She's babbling too much for him, he can hardly follow and just when he's about to ask 'What the hell are you on about', she says,

“Peter is your mate.”

Dumbly, he stares at her.

“What?”

“Well, not completely but... you remember your first heat? No, of course not, we wouldn't be in this mess if you did. But basically, Peter bit you. A real bonding mark. Dad tried to get him off of you but Peter, he, he broke Dad's nose, you know? Not to mention the kitchen table, grandmother's antique cabinet in the hall and all the good china within, while he carried you off to your guys' room and holed himself up there with you.”

Ed gapes shell-shocked.

“Mum was so panicked and Dad couldn't think of anything to do except call the police, which of course they didn't want. Eventually, Mum could enter, just the tiniest bit, you see, she had brought food and water and she saw that Peter hadn't touched you further, you were still in your pyjamas from before and that Peter was simply cradling you in his arms, snarling at her the whole time. Every time really, when she came in to change out the plates. He protected you as much as he had kidnapped you. I mean, he was in a real state, I can tell you.”

She shifts slightly in her seat, straightening her dress out from under her.

“Once the week was up, Dad called Uncle Digory in to help, they wrestled Peter off of you, shot him with an actual tranquillizer, God knows where Uncle gets those things, and brought him away. Dad thought, since Peter hadn't completely mated with you, that maybe there was a chance the bonding wouldn't take. That you could still... be saved, so to speak.”

Edmund puts the bun down, feeling a wave of nausea coming on.

“It was a tense time, afterwards. It wasn't at all clear at first whether you remembered anything. You were so catatonic, hardly responsive for like two weeks or so. You kept walking into rooms and then stopping as if you couldn't remember what you wanted there in the first place. You slept in Peter's bed and build a nest out of his clothes, for heaven's sake. Gradually, though, you came back to yourself, asked where Peter went but didn't wail for him or anything. Dad explained to Lucy and you that the wound on your neck was because you went feral during your heat and hurt yourself slamming against the broken china. You seemed to accept that and everything else they told you. And ever since then... we never talked about it and just pretended. Rewrote the whole thing.”

“He's my-” he gets out and then actually does get sick, knees hitting the floor, he barely makes the bin. Susan is there in an instant, holding him by the shoulders.

“I'm sorry, Ed. I'm so, so sorry.”

 

That same evening after they've coaxed him down to a supper he doesn't touch, he takes Lucy by the hand and asks her to go to Peter's flat, get Edmund's things. He could do without his parents making that connection first.

“And tell him,” he adds, urgent, “Tell him I don't ever want to see him again.”

 

It's a good two hours later, middle of the night, that he gets woken (not like he's actually asleep) by a car door being slammed.

“ED!” Peter shouts. “EDMUND!”

Immediately their father is outside, his voice controlled, thus indistinct but Ed can picture the scene perfectly. Dad blocking the entrance, trying to get him to back off, trying to reason with him.

“ED!!!” Peter yells, again.

Burying deeper into his blankets, Edmund curls up, holding his hands over his ears. His door opens, with Mum storming in. She sits down and presses his frame to her.

“Edmund, please!”

“Leave!” his father orders, then adds softer, “You need to leave, son.”

A last pained howl, helpless and desperate, reaches his ears, then there's another slam and tires speeding away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're in for a rapid progression of events, my dudes


	8. de ces amants-là qui ont vu deux fois

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had no internet the past week, which will probably continue a couple more days so if there is a delay in responses, that's the reason.  
> I'm shamelessly chatting with my cousin, using her internet access as I type this, so I hope you will enjoy this chapter twice as much!
> 
> We're almost there, you guys. One more chapter and an epilogue!

“What the shit happened to you?” Aravis asks a week later, staring up at him in the middle of the canteen. Cor is there too, watching him aghast. They both have that rise to their eyebrow indicating that they happened upon a particularly nasty roadkill. He's seen himself in the mirror, he gets it, thanks anyway.

“I'm wishing you a most wonderful day as well,” he replies deadpan and slumps into a chair. “And I know you think it's utterly disgraceful and unspeakably cheap but would you mind lending me your notes from last week? Thank you.”

“Did _someone_ happen to you?”

“Ari,” Ed sighs, appropriating her nickname without allowance as the indignant splutter from her sidekick proves, “please. I'm fine, all right? You don't have to pretend to care.”

Just as Cor's eyebrows shoot down in an  _How dare you,_ Aravis' expression stays her neutral impassive. She grabs into her Chanel bag and bangs a file down.

“They're copies, I won't need them back. You're welcome.”

Ah man, now he feels bad.

 

Despite having most definitely stepped on her toes and insulted her in five different ways, Aravis begins to hover. Yes, more so than usual. Only this time it's not because Edmund is the only one who dares speak to her as she has no damn clue how to approach people on her own but, he thinks, it's because he is her friend and she wants to protect him.

Realising that makes his heart swell so much, he almost once grabs her hand. Only the thought of Cor, throwing himself into a well out of despair, stops him.

Regardless, he is glad of his friends. Cor is included in this, simply because he and Ari are sort of a package deal anyway. To which she would violently object, he'd get heart-eyes, but alas.

Uni he finds to be the one place to truly take his mind off of things. He enjoys his classes so damn much (except that one), really admires his lecturers (except that one) and is able to relax and take his mind off of things he doesn't want to think about in the first place. He loves the library on campus that is literally just a building stuffed to the brim with books, sometimes he picks a route at random and lets his eyes glide from spine to spine until he happens onto a particularly snazzy title. It's funny that in the age of internet this excites him so, to just walk into a place and acquire knowledge at whim.

And yet, as he had feared from his first day of being back, his oasis is unavoidably disturbed by a sight which is as beautiful as it is terrifying: Peter leaning against his black cat of a car, obviously waiting for him.

“Shit,” he grits out and darts behind a column. Aravis and Cor (who's been visiting a lot more lately) blink at him confused. Only a moment though, because then Aravis eyes snap back onto the street.

“Which one is it?” she asks, “The one waiting by the bus stop? The one by the billboard?”

“It's nothing, don't worry about it. Please, I'll just go the other way around and get in at the next stop.”

“It's that blond guy with the black BMW, isn't it?” Cor pipes up, something nasty in his voice.

Instead of waiting for a verbal reply Aravis takes her cue from the way Edmund visibly pales.

“I'll be right back.”

“Don't!”

But her pumps already take off in a staccato of threat. Inevitably, his thoughts spring to Peter, the way he advanced on their father the day Ed moved out, all virile strength. Or just two weeks ago, Caspian's bloody lip.

_He broke Dad's nose, you know._

“You wouldn't know this, of course,” Cor begins, in his haughty drawl he uses whenever he wants to demonstrate to Edmund how much better he loves Aravis, “But Ari has three older brothers. And they're all Alphas. She can handle herself.”

“Wow, that must have been hell for her mother.”

“Oh, it's the father who really suffers from it. He so wished for a cute omega child to spoil and coddle. I think that's why he likes me so much.”

By now Aravis had crossed the street and Peter seems aware that she is indeed heading towards him. He gets off his car, squares his shoulders. Steady, calm and present she stops before him. There are some words exchanged, which are not too audible but the student body around them still widens their distance.

“Say,” Cor suddenly remarks and with a stink eye he turns back to Edmund. “You two cahooting or something?”

“What?”

He gets another considering look before Cor, sheepishly, glances away again.

“It's just... oh, nevermind.”

“Cor, what? Spit it out!”

“Well,... I kind of used to slink around after you and Ari? At the beginning because I had to know if anyone unworthy was bothering her!” he gives Edmund a pointed look, Ed motions for him to keep talking. “And one day, this guy came over to me and told me I should better speak up since otherwise you would take her from me.”

On the other side of the road it's a scary fucking stare down and Ari bunches her fist. Peter looks over her shoulder then and Edmund meets his sorry gaze. He watches him take a step back and get in his car, driving off with the shades on.

 _Your brother's_ _the one who's been sabotaging your forays into the mating scene, love._

“You're driving home with me today,” Aravis announces as soon as they reach her. He doesn't bother protesting.

 

Once they're all filed in her Mercedes (of course), with Cor grumbling in the backseat, she asks him, “Do you want to know what he said?”

There's no judgement in her voice or a demand for him to explain what all that was anyway.

“No,” he shakes his head, “No, I'd rather not.”

He still feels too rattled and vulnerable around him, a wound with red-rimmed edges. Because the scariest part is how Edmund didn't want to hide. Quite the opposite, upon seeing Peter his body had jerked with the rush of wanting to run to him. To climb in his car and tell him to 'Drive! Just drive!' That he doesn't care why Peter did what he did, that he'll be fine not knowing, that he just wants to be with him. That he's pregnant for real this time.

So if he were to hear Peter's explanation, which he knows to God wouldn't even have to be reasonable or moral, for Edmund to fling himself at him and say 'Yes, yes, I understand. You had to do it.'

But that's no option, obviously. However much he would love that. Because he'd destroy Peter's life, not to mention his own. As well as their baby's.

 

Edmund had not remembered to take the pill three days into his heat. Understandable? Stupid? Both, surely. And at first, he'd be calm about it because if you ask him that heat wasn't a proper one at all. Except for that one night he'd spend with Peter, he'd hardly been producing slick or felt aroused or anything like that. So, he figured it was faulty anyway and he'd be fine, he'll just wait for his next heat and start taking them then.

However, there was this annoying nagging in his head of: What if you properly fucked up this time, Pevensie? (Spoiler alert: he had.) Which in turn led him to waste a small fortune on pregnancy tests that he'd in a heart-racing, sweat-pouring ordeal diligently peed on every morning before his first class. Six times he'd gotten  _negative,_ thirteen times  _positive._

Godfuckingdammit.

 

As of now he hasn't told anyone. Doesn't really plan to, either. They'll smell it on him soon enough. He imagines it'll go something like this: Lucy giving him a quick hug before she sits down for breakfast with the rest of them, curling her nose and going, “I say, you smell rather funny.” And he will reply, “It's a new scent, called Baby hormones. Comes out in nine months.” Gasps of scandalized shocks all around.

The ultimate proof that he did the incestuous dirty with Peter. There you have it, folks.

Again: Godfuckingdammit.

 

Since seeing Peter at all is a fantastically dumbass idea, Ed is consequently also forced to quit his job. After a two week absence with barely a call in for sick it's a wonder actually that he wasn't fired. Maybe he is such a small fish they didn't notice.

 

Darlene is surprisingly broken up about it but wishes him all the best when he comes in to give his notice personally (saving postage).

“You simply have to go where the wind takes you,” she remarks with a smile that Edmund tries to mirror. 

Then, unfortunately, Caspian trots up to them.

“What is this I hear? You're leaving us?”

“Um, yeah, I was just saying goodbye.”

Caspian looks intently at him, then claps his hands together.

“Well, that's decided then. Darlene cancel my next two appointments,” he commands her and, turning back to Ed, says,”I'm taking you out to lunch.”

“Don't bother, really.”

“Oh, but I insist. I'm not in the habit of letting people go without fully understanding the reason why.”

“Excuse me?”

“It's free lunch, Pevensie. And frankly, that's the least you can do since you basically leave Darlene and me stranded from one moment to the next.”

 

Like that Caspian whisks him away and brings him to a borderline uncomfortable (because so-fucking-fancy) restaurant.

“I hope you're aware that I'm not Avril Lavigne.”

“What do you mean?”

“I'm very confident in the fact that I can't pull off a T-Shirt and tie combo. That's strictly for sk8ter bois and their rebellious girlfriends.”

Caspian chuckles.

“Don't worry, there's no dress code here.”

“Oh yeah? How come I only see dressed up people then?”

“Let me rephrase: There's no dress code for me, or my acquaintances, here.”

Edmund looks at him with a mix of suspicion and revolt. Which only makes Caspian laugh harder.

“You truly hadn't a clue, had you? That I'm your boss.”

“I mean, you coulda had me fooled.”

“You've seen me come out of my office. Several times.”

“I figured you got send in there to get chewed out for slacking off and terrorizing part-time workers in the break room.”

Caspian's eyes crinkle, deeply amused, as he takes a sip from his water.

“In that case, I truly don't feel bad for harping on it,” he says. “Why are you quitting?”

Now it's Edmund's turn to fiddle with the tablecloth in order to stall.

“I'm just... too busy? The workload for Uni is, like, massive. I can barely keep up.”  
“Remind me, what do you study again?”

“Political science.”

“Beautiful _and_ smart,” Caspian comments. “The whole package.”

Edmund is too surprised to blush and asks, “Are you, like, flirting with me right now?”

“Since our business relationship is terminated and I can't any longer be sued for harassment, I am delighted to say: Yes, I am. Have been since our first meeting, actually. Thank you for noticing, though.”

Taken by surprise, Edmund splutters into his glass. So, Caspian merrily continues by saying, “Now that that's cleared up. Would you be agreeable to a future date?”

Dumbly, Edmund stares at him. Even dumber, he responds with, “I'm pregnant.”

The waiter, who had just been on the way to them, rises his eyebrows in alarm, turns right on his heels and fucks back off.

Caspian, to his credit, takes it quite well. “That... I did not see coming.”

“Yeah, no, it's pretty darn crazy.”

“Too bad I drove us here,” he mutters, nipping unsatisfactorily at his water again. “Is the father in the picture, then?”

Edmund looks down at his hands, slowly shakes his head, “No.”

“I'm sorry to hear,” Caspian says gently. Except it sounds like condolences you give to someone whose partner of 45 years has suddenly died. Maybe, Edmund thinks with a pang, that is exactly how he ought to think of Peter now. _Dead._

“As... surprising as these news are, I would still like to take you out sometime.” Then Caspian rasps and fixes him a bit more intently, “In fact, and I realize this might seem rushed, I would like to extend to you the option of becoming my mate.”

The waiter, in his second attempt to approach them, does the same fucking thing again. Eyes big, he beelines back to the safety of the kitchen. They're gonna starve at this rate.

“I'm- I mean-,” Edmund stutters. “That is really fucking insane.”

Ludicrous enough, it startles a laugh from Caspian.

“Maybe, yes. But ever since we first met, I've felt a... a spark of something between us and I think we could be quite good together.”

“Quite good, huh?”

“Very good, even.”

“You don't know a thing about me.”

“Ah, well, I wouldn't say that's particularly true. You see, Peter used to tell me about you all the time.”

“What?”

“Oh yes, up until the moment of course when he realized how much I liked him to do it. As I said before, rather overprotective that brother of yours.”

Edmund can't help it, he has to break eye contact.

“Forgive me,” Caspian says, “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“That's not it. I'm just surprised, I didn't think you two got along.”

“It does look like it, doesn't it? And I'm the first person to complain what an absolute arse he can be. So full of himself. Arrogant, too. And selfish, my God! He gives the rest of us Alphas a bad name. And yet, I do consider him my friend. A great friend, even. Though, a liaison with you could of course destroy that. Or what do you suppose? Would he be more amenable to me as your partner?”

Edmund claws his glass.

“He'd rip you to pieces.” 

There's a dark glint to his eyes when he says, “I see.” He might as well just say  _Challenge accepted._

On his third try the waiter makes it all the way over to them and successfully takes their orders. His smile is forced and his eyes shifty as if he doesn't know where to look and bunks it out there as fast as he can.

“You know,” Caspian says on an out breath, “I lost my parents when I was twelve.”

“Um,” makes Edmund because um? Bummer?

“I was brought up by my Uncle and his wife ever since.”

“I... don't really know what to say here.”

Shaking himself out of it with a half-hearted smile he clarifies,”All I'm trying to say is: I wouldn't mind to raise a child that isn't technically mine.”

“Oh.”

“In fact, I wouldn't mind at all. As I hope I would do a much better job of it than my Uncle ever did.”

“I'm- that's- I mean, Wow. Caspian, that's you know... aren't you jumping the gun a bit here?”

“I just like to put the facts all out there.”

“What 'facts'? I mean-”

“I'm rather rich, for one.”

“Come on.”

“I'm not insinuating that I plan to buy your affections but surely to someone in your position it is a factor worth considering.”

“Unlike you apparently, I have a caring family.”

Caspian pulls a slightly dismissive eyebrow.

“Not to bring that up again but I have it on good authority that depending on your family is exactly what you don't wish to do.”

“Yeah, well, dire circumstances, right?”

Caspian does that thing again where he  _looks_ at him and Edmund gets the distinct impression that Caspian likes to be bossed around in the bedroom. Quite a lot.

As a saving grace, the food arrives. Edmund has the Pasta alla Norma, which he first tried when he was out with Peter celebrating his new freedom. Peter had twinkled at him over the candlelight, saying,”You'll never want to order anything else again, I swear. It's like biting into a cloud.”

“What about love?” Edmund hears himself ask.

“What about it?” Caspian counters, bite of medium steak halfway to his mouth.

“Don't you want that?”

“I'm afraid I'm not much of a sentimentalist,” he says. “And besides, it hardly matters, does it? Once we'd be mated.”  
“That's no guarantor for us to fall in love.”

“No, but it'll make sure that we'll always care about each other. Chemicals bonding us, making us tender-hearted and soft-eyed towards one another.”

“Is this just a joke to you?”

“Not at all,” he says, suddenly serious. “But I am pragmatic in nature. You're from a good family, intellectual, aspiring, healthy and fertile, obviously.”

“So, I'm ticking all the boxes,” he says sarcastically.

“I like you, Edmund and I don't think it will be at all hard for me to fall in love with you. So,” he mocks him, “I think we could be quite-” His eyes momentarily wander over Edmund's head, harden and then crinkle in an affected smile while he raises his hand in greeting. “-good.”

Intrigued, Ed cranes his neck around. And shouldn't have. He catches Peter's gaze, neutral at first then all at once surprised. The hand he has on a beautiful, young woman's elbow, twitches. She notices and whispers something coquettishly at him. Edmund turns quickly away. Also bad. Caspian scrutinizes him.

“Ah,” he makes, “I gather you and your brother is were the actual problem lies.”

“Pardon?”

“He's the reason you're quitting,” he arches an eyebrow. “Perfectly understandable. I had to work for five excruciating years for my Uncle. After which I bailed, took half of the clientele with me and forced him out of business. Christmas dinners are a joy, as I'm sure you can imagine.”

“No, I'm not- I was just surprised to see him here. What are the chances, you know?”

“Incredibly high, actually,” Caspian says with a smile. “We've got a deal with this restaurant and always bring our clients here, if possible.”

“Oh, I had no idea.”

Caspian chuckles.

“Honestly, you guys live and work together. One would think you'd have the occasional time to chat. You really mustn't be getting along.”

Edmund scowls, “Are you sure it's me you want as a mate? Pete's still free, you know.”

“Deny, deflect, do what you want, I can tell things aren't as rosy as you try to paint them.”

Looking down at his heavenly pasta, Edmund sighs, he's lost all appetite.

“Will you excuse me for a moment?” he asks without really asking and pushes his chair back.

 

Thankfully, all the stalls are empty. At least he can have his micro breakdown in peace. So he breathes in and out a couple of times, paces around, notices that it doesn't help with the way his hands jitter at all and finally stares himself down in the mirror. Why did he have to wear his old  _Ramones_ shirt today of all days? It's Peter's old  _Ramones_ shirt, his brain unhelpfully corrects and then provides him with the memory of Lucy's sorrowful gaze when she saw him with it at breakfast this morning.

Unsurprisingly, that's also the moment when the door opens and Peter comes in.

For a moment they stare at each other. Peter takes a step forwards, says, “Ed,” just as Edmund steps back, palm up and says,”Don't.”

Heartbroken, that's about the only word that can sum up the expression on his brother's face.

“How are you?” he asks.

Edmund scoffs.

“I can explain,” he says then, “I wanted to explain.”

“I don't care, Pete.”

“Edmund, please.” Again he steps forward, slowly but surely crowding Edmund in. Like he's done a million times.

“Do you have any idea what this is like?!” he bursts out, hurt and frustrated. “Thinking I'd be safe with you, that I could have it all! I feel like a giant fucking idiot!”

“I never-”

“Was it so much fun watching me stumble around after you? Wanting to please you so bad? Like I had a choice!”

“Ed, no, that's-”

“Why couldn't you just tell me?”

“Ed,” he says again, sad and helpless.

Edmund's hands clench to fists.

“Fucking forget it then.”

He means to barrel past him but of course, having Edmund so wilfully come close, Peter snatches him. It's not a full body hug, he only clasps him by the shoulders but it still feels like branding irons.

“Don't touch me!” Ed snarls but Peter's eyes have suddenly grown fierce.

“When you were four years old and fell from the slide in the backyard, I thought I'd die,” Peter says. “Mum and Dad drove with you to the hospital, while the rest of us had to stay with the Teitelbaums next door. I couldn't see you for two days and didn't sleep a wink because I was so worried. Even when Dad came back home and told us it was only a broken arm.”

Edmund's eyes grow bigger and he stops struggling against Peter's bruising hold.

“I was twelve when I got into my first real fight. John Patterson and Michael Stewart, two upperclassmen. It was because they looked at you during school recital and found some unsavoury words I don't care to ever repeat.”

Edmund remembers that. The sudden commotion in the middle of the hall. His brother knocking another boy to the floor, beating his face bloody. And later in the infirmary when he stubbornly wouldn't tell Edmund why he'd done that but still asked him to stay. Edmund, oblivious, had even climbed into bed with him and let Peter read his comics.

“There are a _million_ other times, I could pick, Ed. But your heat wasn't the first time I felt it. And I did, I did lose control and did something I shouldn't have. I know that. But it didn't take anyway,” he says, keeping his eyes locked on Ed's. “There is no mating bond between us. That's why I didn't say anything. Because I had to know that you, too,-”

“No,” Edmund pleads, struggling backwards again. Because that's worse. Not having the excuse of an unfortunate bonding, to know that he really is so depraved and fell in love with his brother, all on his own, without the help of brain chemicals that he can't control. That this might be _real,_ is unthinkable.

“Let's just leave,” Peter urges, holding him so unbreakable. “Together. And I'll- I'll do anything- I-” 

“No, Pete, stop it, this is not what I want,” Ed says, weak and helpless. “I want to study and have lunches with Aravis and Cor and I want to change things in politics and I want my _family._ ”  
“I know,” Peter murmurs, pulling him in, covering him with his body and his scent. “I know that.”

“Why won't you leave me alone,” he cries and claws and hammers against Peter's unbudging mass.

“You know why,” Peter says into his hair. His hands burning Edmund's body.

“Just stay away from me,” he wails, helpless against this ache inside him.

“I can't, Ed. I don't know how.”

But Edmund does. With all the force he can muster he pushes his brother off, slaps him across the face.

“You might be fine all on your own, but I wouldn't! Being with you would make me unhappy, don't you get that? You could never be enough, I'd be miserable with you!”

The hurt shock on Peter's face is enough to propel movement into Edmund's limbs. He dashes out of there quick as he can.

 

Caspian is still happily digging into his steak when he becomes aware of the swiftly nearing Edmund and gives him an easy smile.

“Friday,” Edmund pushes out. “Dinner, 8 p.m. My parents' home.”

A little perplexed, Caspian puts his cutlery down and then realising Edmund is about to leave, he gets up.

“I'm sorry, what is going on?”

Edmund steps into his space, hears the door to the restroom open and hauls Caspian in around the lapels. He hopes to God Peter has an excellent view of how he and Caspian kiss.

“I accept your proposal,” he declares and then leaves it all behind.

 


	9. l’histoire de ce roi mort de n’avoir pas pu te rencontrer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little bit of renaming, yeah? (I've resisted using brel's lyrics the whole time but seriously? they fit so well, so I changed it after all)  
> alright, so there's a scene in here that is scraaaaaaaaaaping along the edge of non-con. without spoiling anything but if you want to avoid: there's a paragraph break after ed decides to go for a run. Stop reading after that.

In hindsight, agreeing to be mated to a person of which one can't decide whether to like them or not, is probably a bad idea.

But, stubbornness. Family trait. We've been over this.

Additionally though, springing the fact that one is pregnant and engaged (so to speak) on your family is possibly even worse.

Basically, Edmund says nothing all week. Friday morning, scrubbing his shower-wet hair, he pokes his head into the kitchen where his mum sits with a cup of coffee and a half finished crossword puzzle, reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, and he goes, “Mu-um?”making it three syllables and hopefully adorable.

She allows an amused grin and glances up. “Yes, dear?”

“Would you mind if I invited someone to dinner tonight?”

There's a visible suprise in her expression that she kindly tries to hide by touching the pen to her mouth.

“Of course, I don't mind. Is there anything in particular you'd like me to make?”

“Pot roast?”

 

Susan comes in as Edmund puts the plates down.

“Did I forget someone's birthday?” she asks. “You haven't made pot roast in forever, Mum.”

Their mother chuckles, stirring up the gravy.

“Edmund's invited a friend.”

“A friend?” Lucy asks, hopping down the stairs. “Like, who? Aravis?”

“Do I smell pot roast?” Their father calls from the hall.

“Apparently Aravis is coming over,” Susan calls back and then meanders over to the pantry.

Lucy goes in the direction of their Dad. And his Mum twinkles at him, as she heaves the roast onto the table.

Edmund, wisely, says jack shit.

 

Then, when they're all amicably chatting around the dinner table, the doorbell rings. Edmund jumps up, startling his father into slumping down again.

He opens the front door to Caspian, wearing a navy Tom Ford.

Edmund, in a mix of badly veiled nerves and utter resignation, says, “You're fucking tie has a pin on it.”

Caspian opens and closes his mouth, then, self-consciously, plucks at his sleeve.

“I never had to do the whole family thing before.”

Edmund steps aside and as Caspian strides past him, he mumbles quickly, “I haven't told them, yet.” All while swinging the door close, grasping Caspian by the elbow and pushing him into the spotlight of his family's clueless anticipation.

Caspian enters the room to delighted grins shifting into confused smiles. He raises a hand, his mouth sorta also going for a smile.

“Everyone, this is Caspian,” Edmund announces. “Caspian, this is... my family.”

“Hi,” Caspian squeaks very manly.

A beat of silence, then jerky motions of his father getting up and Caspian taking a step towards him.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Caspian.” His father says over their shaking hands.

“The pleasure's all mine, uh, Mr. Pevensie.”

“It's Robert, please.”

Then his Mum gets up and as they exchange greetings, Susan throws Edmund the most bewildered gaze. As soon as it's her turn to shake hands though, her face becomes all charming up-curves.

 

„You're a friend from Uni, then?“ Dad asks once they're all seated and start digging in.

„No, we uh-,“ Cas throws Edmund a quick glance. „We, well, we kind of... worked together at-“

„He was my boss,“ Edmund finally deigns to take over. „Before I quit.“

„Oh,“ his father says with his mouth and the rest of his family with their eyes.

“Yeah, uhm, Peter introduced us, actually,” Caspian adds to Edmund's dismay and inevitable prick of pain. The others shift noticeably. Susan even rasps, her eyebrows twitching up as she takes a bite of potato.

At least, Caspian realizes that this is a sore subject and mercifully inquires not about their brother's absence. Instead the conversation moves on to more bearable places. Thanks to his Mum and her effortless skill of easing even the thicket tensions. They talk about Caspian's company for a while, subtly broach the feud with him and his uncle which Ed's parents used to read all about in the papers. Caspian allows some insights about his private family life, which are subtly desolate enough that their Mum grants him a sympathetic smile full of warmth and a silent invitation to any future holidays at the Pevensie household.

At some point Susan makes a quip about peacocky Alphas to which he responds with a Shakespearan quotation, succeeding in one fell swoop to earn Susan's attention and Lucy's favour. Because then it turns out he used to be a bloody drama nerd but even fucking worse than that, after high school he became part of a boy band. They even had a couple of serious gigs and a moderately successful album. That is then exactly the point where Susan shrieks and looks one of his performances up on youtube and “Holy shit! That _is_ you! Lucy that's him!” So his whole family bundles around Susan's phone while Caspian is red as a bloody tomato and Edmund can't stop cackling.

Eventually, Caspian huffs and throws Edmund the meanest squint. In turn, it makes Edmund lean over and pat his pretty hair conciliatory. “Our little pop star,” he coos.

It's his mum, who catches that interaction and suddenly a light bulb goes on over her head. Susan, still in hysterics, looks at her and then over to Edmund, who blanched at his mother's realization, and Caspian, who stares fondly and obliviously at Edmund. _Ding_ . Lucy is next, glancing between all of them until her eyes get stuck on the way Caspian's fist gives an affectionate bump against Edmund's shoulder. _Ding-ding_. Last but not least, his father, wiping merry tears away then catching the meaningful stare and nod of his wife and he, too, turns to the mates-to-be, eyebrows steadily climbing.

Edmund's mouth opens in an attempt of non-chalant smile but he already knows he's in for it. So, he grasps the hand of the still oblivious Caspian in his own and says, “By the way, Cas and I, well, wouldn't you know, we're kind of not friends, or like, not _just_ friends but uh, haha,” he catches Caspian's covert glance of _you're doing this now???_ , then swallows and switches between facing his dad and his mum. “We're getting married!”

Dead silence.

His father might genuinely just have turned to stone, his mother keeps blinking and Lucy makes a quiet wheezing noise, her soul ascending, perchance. There's only his beautiful, eloquent, older sister, who goes, “Fucking Christ.”

Edmund feels nothing but the heat in his ears, the weightlessness of his stomach before the inevitable seize of gravity, Caspian's warm hand, squeezing his, thumb rubbing reassuringly. And just for a second, Edmund imagines it to be someone else next to him.

“We would say congratulations,” his mum remarks, mostly to Caspian, “but I suppose we're all a bit... surprised, right now.”

“Oh no, please, I completely understand. I'm sure it's a shock.”

“It's just,” his dad jumps in, his expression still completely frozen in incomprehension, “I've never even heard your name before today.”

“Yes, I- yes.”

“How long has this been going on?” he continues.

Ed and Caspian throw each other a quick glance. Letting go of his hand, Ed rasps.

“It's pretty new.”

“Obviously,” Susan snorts under her breath. Their gazes meet in a quiet challenge.

“Well, are you... sure about this?” their mum asks.

“Yes, we-”

“Caspian,” their dad suddenly cuts in. “I don't mean to be rude but-”

“But I should go,” he finishes. “It's a family matter, I understand.”

“Thank you,” Dad says, getting up as Caspian does, too, throwing Edmund a last helpless, yet hearty, glance. “I'll show you out.”

 

Ed stays put and they all listen to their father escorting Caspian outside, the low exchange of words and finally the click of the front door shutting again. Caspian drives away and Dad is back in the dining room. No one says a word and he doesn't sit down again either, just puts his hands on the back of the chair and stares at them.

“Son, I know we've had our disagreements in the past but I've,” he sighs, “I've never known you to be rash about your decisions.” Then he looks up. “I'm sure you can understand my bafflement by these news.”  
“All our bafflements,” Susan whispers and Lucy vigorously nods.

His Dad ignores them. “I would just like to know where this is coming from.”

In his lap, Edmund wrings his own hands, then drops his gaze and confesses.

“I'm pregnant.”

There are half a dozen abortive sounds coming from each of them but Edmund can't make himself look up. He feels so ashamed.

Defeated, his father slumps down into his chair after all, his mum immediately grabbing his hand. Susan and Lucy are holding their's, as well. But Peter isn't here, so no one holds Edmund's.

“It's Caspian's, then?” His mother asks cautiously.

Edmund's lips form various attempts of the truth that all sound terrible in his head so finally he settles on, “We can pretend that it is, if you want?”

With a thump his Dad's hand falls to the table, his Mum covers her mouth, tiny noises of whatever emotions his sisters might be feeling.

Then his Dad slowly shakes his head, declares, “I need a drink,” and gets up. “Anyone else?”

“Not Edmund,” Lucy jokes but it's too soon, there's no favourable reaction to it.

“Fucking Christ,” Susan mumbles again. Mum tsked her for it, then turns to her son and lays her hand, palm up, in the center of the table. Ed reaches out and takes it. He gets a squeeze and a small smile for it.

“Thank you for telling us, honey.”

Next to him, Lucy leans her head on his shoulder.

 

There isn't much more they talk about. How long he's known, three weeks. Been to the omegancologist, yet? I have an appointment at the end of the month. Does he plan to keep it? Yes. Does Peter know?

Here he looks to the side, trying hard to stem tears, and shakes his head incrementally. No.

His father puts a hand to the small of his back and then files out into the living-room, his Mum kisses his temple and wordlessly follows. Only Susan and Lucy go upstairs with him. They all get ready for bed and then pile up on his narrow mattress. For a long time they say nothing, stare into space, are illuminated solely by the orange glow of Edmund's bedside lamp.

“Can I touch?” Lucy asks eventually and Ed just shrugs, so she goes for it. Her fingertips grazing lightly over his belly. It's more ticklish than anything. “Wow,” she says, “wow.”

“You decided on a name, yet?” Susan throws in, watching Lucy's questing fingers.

“Don't even know if it's gonna be a boy or a girl.”

“Yeah, well,” she replies and shimmies onto her side, “I mean, even if it has two heads, at least it's gonna be pretty.”

“For fuck's sake.”

“You gotta admit, our family's always been lucky in the gene's department.”

“Shut the heck up, you old pest.”

“What are you gonna be, though?” Lucy wonders. “A Daddy?”

“Mummy?”

“Papa?”

“Please,” Edmund begs, “Somebody kill me.”

 

The phone calls keep coming. Eventually the voicemail is backed up. Then he gets texts. One or two, every day. He wouldn't be able to bear his voice but the furtive glances at the texts he can't prevent. It's terrible when his phone vibrates during meals and Lucy gives him a pitiful smile. It's worse when he's fucking about with his sisters somewhere and it happens. Susan giving him a stern expression and saying, “Just block his number, Ed.” And it's the most awful when he's in bed at night, the screen brightening, and he misses him so fiercely with every stuttering breath that he can't help but reach out and stare at those empty words.

 

_Please pick up._

_Talk to me._

_I never meant for this to hurt you._

_I'm sorry, Ed._

_Tell me you're alright._

_I can explain better. More._

_Just text back. Please._

 

Then there's nothing for a whole day. Edmund catches himself constantly checking his phone. Even his email account. He's nervous about it, agitated, and berates himself the whole time. Peter may finally be giving up. That's _good,_ he reminds himself in the dark of his bedroom, staring at the dimming screen. Suddenly, it goes off, vibration alerting him of an incoming message. Startled, he rubs at his eyes and with bated breath unlocks the phone.

 

_I talked to Caspian today. Tell me it's not true._

 

There's a fresh wave of misery washing over him, thinking about Pete in his own bed. Alone, too. Morose in the dark.

 

_Ed, please._

 

He dials, holds it up to his ear. One second, two, three.

“ _Ed, I-”_

“You need to stop,” he cuts in harshly. “Stop texting me, stop calling, stop trying to make me feel bad for you. I can't- I can't do this, anymore. And if you really are as sorry as you say, then you leave me alone. I'm trying to move on and I'm trying to be _happy._ So, just- stop already.”

For a moment, there's no response, just Ed's harsh breathing and thudding heart. Then,

“ _I love you.”_

He rips the phone from his ear and smashes the red end call symbol.

 

Two days later, he comes home from grocery shopping with his Mum. She let him drive and while he runs around the car to check if he managed the correct amount of distance towards the garage walls, she already unloads the first bags. Just as he is satisfied with his yield, his Mum calls his name. Only it sounds vaguely cautious. As he jogs up to the front door, he sees why.

There are two unmarked boxes sitting around. Atop one is a letter addressed to _Edmund_ , in Peter's shitty scrawl.

His Mum throws him a helpless glance that Edmund is too shaken to reciprocate. But then she unlocks the door, leaves the decision of what to do with this to him.

 

His headphones are in there, the winter coat Mum had ordered for him, his favourite mug, the GameCube. All of Edmund's things that he had left with Peter that Lucy was supposed to get but didn't because Peter had driven here instead and howled for Edmund in the middle of the bloody night. Because he hadn't wanted to give him up, because he thought they could fix this and Edmund would return to him. And now all his things are here, after all. So is that letter, that Ed's been fingering for the past ten minutes. Scared of the possible content, terrified of the finality of it all.

 _Edmund._ The sight of it evokes the sensation of having Peter whisper it into his ear as he breached him. The tingling glory of Peter moaning it against his lips as he came.

Angry, he rips the envelope open.

 

_Ed,_

_I don't know what to say except I love you. I would have written it before but I had so desperately wanted to say it to your face. Now it happened through a phone call and that is not better but it doesn't matter anymore. You want me to leave you alone and I only want you happy. And it hurts, it hurts me to know that you can't forgive me. That I have lost you. Because I was a coward and a fool. And I know that, I do. Meeting you again was the most wonderful, happiest accident of my life. But I cocked it up and now you're going to marry Caspian? I try to imagine him with you but I can't because my jealousy won't allow it. I keep wishing he won't make you happy, that he'll treat you poorly. And that more than anything proves to me how little I ever deserved you or your smiles._

_I love you. God, I'm so in love with you._

_At least, know that._

_Peter_

 

It's a feat that he doesn't shed a tear. It's a feat, but he's not proud of it.

 

Caspian has been on the lay low since the dinner debacle. He'd shot Edmund a text that night, asking how it went and to let him know if Edmund needed anything, wanted to talk, whatever, he knew how to reach Caspian.

So a week after the reveal and many, many, many talks with his family, he hits Caspian up and they go watch a movie. It's real fucking nice actually because Cas treats him like a buddy and they only talk shit the whole time. Ed hasn't expected it but they share the same humour, making for entertaining banter and carefree comraderie. So they meet up again the next day, after Cas is done with work, they meander around a bit in the city centre, looking through books and sharing a bag of roasted chestnuts.

One Sunday they drive to the sea and Ed gets to play with a bunch of retired dogs on an outing with their shelter. He almost convinces Cas to adopt one.

They go to an arcade and Ed crushes him at literally everything, which makes Caspian incredibly cantankerous because he didn't learn the necessity of honourable losing that growing up with merciless siblings inevitably instills in you.

He invites Lucy and Edmund to the opening show of The Crucible. Front row. And because of course he has connections, they even go backstage and Lucy gets to talk with all the actors. She almost literally dies.

Susan drags them to her favourite karaoke bar where she makes Caspian perform his band's one and only hit song. Sweaty and flushed with the adrenaline, he stumbles from the stage and then actually gets asked for an autograph. Susan and Ed piss themselves laughing. Instead of getting back at her though, Caspian somehow manages to procure a date for her with the hot bartender she's been after for _months._

 

Saturday morning he comes over for breakfast with the family. It's still a bit awkward but Caspian has an innate warmth about him that helps endear himself to the others.

Also, of course, his family knows not to say anything about the real father of the baby. Because, yes, Caspian knows it's not his (he didn't care to tell his parents he's never even seen Caspian shirtless) but he also has made no inquiry about its true origin so Ed would rather keep it locked up tight. Of course, they also repeatedly asked why Edmund felt the need to marry Caspian right away. Just because he's pregnant? And Ed himself, also uncertain, made quite a fishy case of the necessity of it.

But people would ask questions, wouldn't they? A young, single omega. Who, until an unidentified row broke them apart, had lived alone with his alpha brother for several months in close quarters and largely unsupervised.

Also, Caspian had been right, money simply is something he has to consider and while his family is well enough off, Edmund would never be able to sustain himself and his baby. He has basically no education, no chance at any decent job. And even if his family is willing to pitch in, it would inevitably be a strain on them, too and Ed really, really didn't want them to pay for his mistake.

Caspian, then. Nice and decent Caspian.

“Have you picked a date yet, actually?” Lucy asks around a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

Ed looks at Caspian, who smiles and says, “Tomorrow, if it were up to me.”

 

Later, Ed leans against the hood of Caspian's white Camaro.

“Did you really mean that?”

Caspian, hands in his pockets, scuffs his shoe and doesn't need clarification.

“Kinda, yeah.”

“Huh,” Ed makes and Cas looks up.

“Fuck, Ed, I really like you, okay? I know we've hardly gotten to know each other and I'm probably gonna end up making a fool of myself but,” he shrugs. “It is how it is.”

Then Caspian steps closer, grabs the hem of Ed's sweater.

“Your family is amazing and sure, I guess, that is part of why I would love to make things official as soon as possible but I also realize that you're just not there yet. I notice you pulling away whenever I try to flirt and how you're always aware where your hands are so they don't accidentally brush mine.”

Caught, Edmund's cheeks start colouring in, the tiniest “Oh,” escaping him.

“I see you, Ed,” Cas finishes.

Too embarassed to look at him, he says, “Well, in that case, I suppose we should hurry up. Otherwise everyone will get to see me and my big bump.”

 

“-and, well, basically, I was hoping, that-” he ends his wildly-gesticulated ramble, “you could be my best man! Woman!”

Aravis, incredibly surprised and hiding it badly, lets the noodles slip off her fork, consequently splashing her crisp, robin egg's blue blouse with carbonara.

Smacking her lips once, she composes herself and looks back down at her plate. Absolutely, she notices the stain but is too dignified to let on, so she simply twirls the spaghetti onto her fork again.

“Who is the lucky groom, then?”

“Oh, eh, his name's Caspian.”

There's a twitch in her hand.

“Adamson?”

“You know him?”

“My father does. He was business partners with Caspian's father. I believe my family has still dealings with Adamson Junior.”

Not sure how to respond, Ed merely continues to smile vaguely.

“You'll do it, then? Cor is invited, too, obviously.”

“Frankly, I've always thought him rather dimwitted,” she remarks, completely ignoring Ed. “But if that is your taste, who am I to judge.”

Edmund has the distinct impression that she is most definitely judging him. But he also has the feeling that she's dying to know what is actually going on and is simply too well-mannered to pry. Well, they're friends but he's not about to volunteer more information than necessary.

 

The complete silence from Peter bothers and hurts him. But that's what he's asked for. Or, to say it with Caspian's words, it is what it is.

Still, in the long mid hours when everyone else is gone and the house is quiet, Ed lies on his bed and dreams. He remembers Peter's stubborn cowlicks in the morning, the crinkles by his eyes when he laughed over Ed's failed cooking, how his hands felt stroking through Ed's hair, how he had always smelled like home.

He dreams, too, about what could have been. Could _be_ , if life were easier.

Dreams of lazy kisses and the movement of Peter's shoulderblades, holding him suspended above Edmund's body, the ripple of abdominal muscles, the light happy trail that Edmund would like to mouth, the all-engulfing warmth of him more than anything. He imagines Sunday mornings, himself in his brother's bed and Peter beside him, tired from a long week of work. Sometimes he holds Peter, caressing his hair and pressing his face close to his neck. Other times, Peter holds him, their legs entangled and Edmund's ear pressed to Peter's heartbeat. But always he imagines both their hands, resting on Edmund's belly, big and round. Both of them protecting the budding wonder within.

If life were different and happiness easier.

 

While Aravis' desire for snooping is held in check by her ostentatious sense of respect towards other people's business, Cor has no such qualms.

“What are you thinking pressuring Ari to attend your poor disguise of an elopement? What on earth is all this marriage nonsense about anyway? And who the hell,” he stems himself on his palms, leans right over the table and into Ed's face, “was that blond guy? I swear to God, Pevensie, if you drag Ari into some despicable scam and end up besmirching her reputation somehow, I will haunt your ass to the edge of hell and personally kick you in!”

“Ehm,” Edmund makes, open-mouthed and duly intimitated.

Aravis, next to Cor, is ildly filing her nails. As unperturbed as she seems, Edmund catches the annoyed twitch to her eyebrow.

“Cor,” she breathes out, rather fed-up, “I have to attend the planning session for Mum's charity ball tonight.”

A bit bewildered, Cor sits back down, all focus back on his object of neverending affection. “I know, Ari.”

“Well,” she continues, still blasé, “I wanted to wear my burgundy business suit.”

“The Armani one? Brilliant choice, you look extraordinary in it.”

“Unfortunately, It's still at the cleaners and I don't think I'll have time to fetch it before the meeting starts.”

“I can get it for you!” he immediately proposes.

She allows a small smile. Cor positively glows.

“I'd be very grateful.”

“Don't worry about a thing!” He exclaims and ah, there he dashes off.

“Thanks,” Edmund says, inclining his head to her.

Ari, finally, puts her file away.

“Nevermind that now. Get up. Walk with me.”

 

He follows her stoic silence to the maze that is the business building. From there they walk all the way to the tower with staircases, that usually only people use, who don't like riding lifts. By the time they get to the top, he's already short of breath and seriously wondering where the hell she's leading him.

“Class starts in about ten minutes,” he remarks conversationally.

“If Mr. Davis's class wasn't mandatory, I would never bother attending anyway. Neither would you.”

Finally, they arrive at the exit to the roof. With an impressive little trick, she unlocks the door and there they are; wide scenery, blowing breeze, a bunch of crows cawing inquisitively at them.

Aravis walks all the way out to the edge. There's wire fence all around so at least it's safe. She works her fingers between the meshes and together they stand for a while in silence.

“How did you find this?”

“All my live people have stared at me. And in places like this things can get so noisy, that even random people glancing at me feels unbearable. Everywhere I go, I try to find these quiet spaces. Calm places where I can breathe and forget life for a while.”

Edmund hums, stares out for a while longer, then closes his eyes and lets the wind caress him.

“That blond guy,” he says eventually. “He's my brother.” But she still looks calmly at him, so he adds, “And I'm in love with him.”

“Oh.”

“It's disgusting, I know.”

“No,” she says vaguely. There's a moments pause, then, “I mean, it probably happens more often than we'd think.”

Sure, everyone knows a story of some family where that happened. But they're cautionary stories, full of shame and wrongness. Told by parents to their kids in disgust and condemnation. Used by peers to torment and bully. These stories never have a happy end, not even a good beginning.

Ari looks at him intently.

“He loves you too, then?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice weary and strained by sadness.

“But you decided not to stay together.”

His eyes snap to her angrily.

“Come on, Ari.”

“What?”

“How? How could we ever be together?”

She turns around, leans against the fence and gets a pack of pocky sticks out. The only sweets he's ever seen her eat.

“I forget sometimes,” she says and holds some out for sharing, “that most people don't really have money.”

“Christ.”

“A nice sea side cottage, no one to bother you for miles, a village kid named Keiran, who brings you groceries once a week. I'd lend you the money, if you want. I wouldn't mind. You'd pay me back interest of course, I'm not a bloody Samaritan.”

“You're unbelievable,” he says, laughing, and shoves her shoulder.

“Instead of a shocking, frivolous love affair with your brother you decided on boring, old Caspian,” Ari laments and nibbles on her pockys.

Edmund surprises himself by saying, “He's not that bad.”

 

That evening he finds himself outside the gate of a private apartment complex waiting for Caspian to let him in. Caspian invited him a few times before but Ed had, by simply passing over these remarks, subtly refused. But with their new understanding of each other, Ed feels he ought to act a bit more forthcoming. So, Netflix binge night at the Adamson Jr. residence it is.

“Hey,” a dark figure greets him that under the electric light morphs into Caspian with messy hair and sweats. He wears a dark blue, wooly sweater that Edmund thinks looks really rather nice and homely.

“It's the Royal Gala for my parents, yet all I get is the Hobo edition? I feel slighted.”

Caspian chuckles.

“With you, on the other hand, I'm always guaranteed to only get the snarkiest version.”

“Don't flatter yourself, 's what everyone gets.”

“So Susan warned me.”

 

The trek up to his flat is long enough for a first round of nerves to set in despite Caspian talking the whole time and being perfectly relaxed. Edmund just doesn't know what the evening could bring, what he himself wants it to bring.

“Welcome to my humble abode. Mi casa es tu casa. And... I don't know any other phrases pertaining to this kind of situation. Do make yourself right at home, anyhow.”

“Thanks,” Ed mumbles, getting out of his jacket with curious eyes. It's a big, airy place, primarily in whites and blues. Very neat, very clean. Though of course there's no way to tell if it's always this way or if Caspian tidies up for company.

“I didn't know what stuff you like so I got some of everything,” Cas explains as he leads Edmund into the living-room. He has a big ass TV of course, two sofas in parakeet green, rendered darker by the orange glow of the floor lamp. Also the couch table is filled over with all sorts of candy, crisps, and wine gum, as well as an assortment of drinks.

“Well I'm more of a sweet tooth, actually, but I'm sure I can work with this.”

Ed throws himself on the couch.

“Garçon! A glass of champagne!”

“Coming right up, Sir,” Caspian curtsies and then proceeds to fill a glass with bubbly non-alcoholic kids' wine. He makes himself one, too.

Ed's already munching on pretzels when Caspian hands the drink over. They clink glasses, raise them like gentlemen would and then knock them promptly back.

“So, anything in particular you'd like to watch?”

“I don't know,” Edmund answers, making space for Caspian to sit down, too. “A comedy maybe?”

For a while they click through the options and find that they've seen most of them. Eventually, and completely arbitrarily, they land on _The Night Manager._

 

During the middle of episode three Ed burps loudly. He's embarassed for a second but Caspian just laughs and follows up with an even louder one.

“Urgh, I'm stuffed,” Ed groans.

“Well, that's something at least,” Caspian twinkles.

Edmund, more than Caspian, is borritoed in a thick, soft blanket but the edges extend to Caspian, too. He has his hand laying in the space between them for a while now.

“I need to lie down,” Ed announces and swings himself into a horizontal position, his feet landing in Caspian's lap. There's a moment of Caspian staring at them, biting his own cheek, presumably not to smile too brightly. Ed turns back to the screen and Cas starts lightly massaging his heel.

 

During a more leisurely part of the episode, Caspian steadily rubbing circles into the soles of Ed's feet and it feeling _really_ fucking good, he remarks, “Peter handed in his notice today.”

Immediately, Ed stiffens.

“What?”

“Yeah, he came in to see me and said he wanted to quit. No reason, no nothing. You wouldn't have an idea what on earth he's up to, would you?”

Feeling rather sick suddenly, Ed moves upright again, feet sliding out of Caspian's grasp and onto the floor.

“No, no idea, at all.”

 

Later when Cas drives him home through the dark city and its artificial lights, Ed is gravely quiet. Caspian lets him be. It's only when they're parked out front and the time for, probably awkward, goodbyes has come, that he speaks up.

“You know, when I said you and Peter must not be getting along, I was mostly joking.”

A bit bewildered to be jerked out of his thoughts, Ed blinks at him confused.

“He's never told me much about his family but with you, there never was a question of how fond of you he is.”

There's nothing Ed could possibly say. Suddenly, Caspian reaches a hand out and cups his cheek.

“I get that it's a family matter so I have no intention to butt in or anything. But he's my friend and I just don't understand what's going on with him lately. I'm worried.”

Edmund gives him a non-descript smile.

“I'm sure everything's alright. You know how alphas are.”

“Oh, don't I!” Caspian exclaims with a grin, then lightly squeezes Edmund before retrieving his hand.

 

Inside he sees grey light flicker out from under Lucy's door. He knocks lightly and then enters, only to find her sitting cross-legged in front of the computer.

“Hey,” she says and yawns, “how was it?”

He walks right over, arms outstretched, and hugs her, cheek resting on her messy top bun.

“Fine,” he breathes out. Lucy hugs him tightly back.

 

The next morning he trudges late out of bed and he's still in his pyjamas, scratching his head and making his hair even messier, when his Mum comes into the kitchen, too and says, “What do you say you and I go into the city tomorrow? Just the two of us? Or we could invite the girls, too, if you'd like?”

Bleary-eyed he looks at her, then continues scratching his belly and yawns a, “Sure, Mum.”

Normally, he'd be more suspicious but he's so tired. So goddamn tired for so many goddamn reasons.

 

She takes him shopping. They get two new jeans for him, four shirts, and a giant, fluffy sweater. His mum finds a beautiful summer dress on sale. A new pair of shoes for both of them. They get icecreams too and while they meander around the mall like that, with bags and gossip about Mum's friend Jeanine, she suddenly stops in front of a display full of baby clothes.

“We've kept all of the old stuff, of course,” she says, “But I've always thought the first onesie should be picked out by oneself.” She looks up at him, like only a mother can look at her child, comforting and affectionate.

He lowers his icecream.

“Or is this too early?” she backtracks, then grasps his hand. “I just wanted you to know, I'm really happy and excited for this, for you, and- I just wanted you to know,” she finishes and squeezes his hand. “I love you, darling, and I'm very proud.”

These dang pregnancy hormones, he thinks, sniffing. With another motherly smile she brings him to one of the benches, so they can sit down and throw the last of their cornets away.

“I'm just sorry, Mum,” he gets out eventually, “about how all this happened.”

“I know, dear.”

“Can Dad ever forgive me?”

“He already has,” she reassures him. “This day was his idea.”

 

When they get home, there's an arsenal of small cakes waiting for them, as well as the rest of his family in a state of indiscriminate munching.

“Oh, finally you're home!” Susan exclaims. “Look at this stuff!”

“Caspian had them delivered,” Lucy explains. “He said to eat as much as we want.”

Susan comes over, throws her arm around him and whispers, “He also said it doesn't mean anything but I can hear the churchbells loud and clear, little bro. Have you finally picked a date?”

“Oh goodness, what is this?” His mum asks, as she finally trails in as well.

“They're Caspian's present for Ed's birthday,” Lucy trills again.

Susan releases him and in the short span of time where Ed brings the bags to the foot of the stairs, his Mum has already joined the others in pulverizing _Ed's_ birthday present.

“God, Ed, this marzipan one is amaaazing,” she groans aloud.

“Try the red velvet one!” Susan says.

“No, the pumpkin buttercream!”

“Son,” his father puts a hand on his shoulder and touches their heads together, a gesture so reminiscent of Peter, it stops Ed's heart for a second. “You know, I support you in any of your decisions but if you don't decide on the chocolate créme, I might have to disown you.”

 

All of them munch away on cake until they're sick with it and talk and talk around the kitchen table. It's one of the better days he's had in a while.

 

Later, with his tummy almost rebelling, Ed lies down on his bed, opens his phone and stares at Peter's contact info. For a while his thumb hovers over the screen. When he does tap a warning pops up, asking whether he is sure that he wants to delete this contact permanently. Another long breath as he stares at the picture he used for Peter's entry. It is of the two of them the day they drove out to Ikea to buy sheets and other stuff for Ed. There was a photobooth too, into which he had promptly dragged his brother. He used the second of the four pictures; Peter and him laughing because they had missed the first flash.

Edmund presses confirm.

 

The next morning, Saturday, he wakes up early and empty and keeps lying in bed. Extremities outstretched, staring at the ceiling. It's six, seven, eight a.m. The sun creeping in and stealing the comfort of night away.

Eventually he has to get up and relieve his bladder. The house is all quiet. None of them will be rising earlier than ten if they can help it. So Edmund goes downstairs and gets a glass of orange juice. As he drinks it, he strokes over his belly. It's more because of the lingering fullness of yesterday's cake bout than because of his baby. But then he does think about it and usually it's too much of an abstract concept to actually be processed but today, as he lifts up his shirt he is pretty sure his belly is rounder than the last time he's looked at it.

“Shouldn't have eaten so much cake,” he mutters to himself. But then he looks outside, autumn in full swing and the neighborhood still in its warm feathery bed and he decides to do something he hasn't done since 9th grade. He goes for a run.

 

His old track gear still fits him mostly, though the material of the shorts is really getting flimsy and his trainers could definitely be replaced. But none of that matters once he has the first hundred steps behind him, his muscles grown warm, his breath accelerating, his feet lifting steadily. Finally something he does, that actually feels freeing. If it weren't for the direction he's running to and the heaviness of the keys in his pocket.

 

Making sure that Peter's car is not out front, Ed quickly jogs up to the building's entrance, takes a steadying breath and goes in. He rides the elevator up to the 8th floor, turns the lock with its familiar click and, just like that, he's back.

Except the place is bare. There are some haphazard boxes still around but they're not even marked, might be filled with nothing but trash. Stunned, Ed walks through this place he used to be so happy in until he gets to Peter's room.

The only thing still in there is his bed frame with the matress, although stripped off its sheets and bare. The bed they made love in that one and only time before Ed destroyed everything by leaving. Then he sees what he came here to find; the four pictures from the photobooth, laying desolately atop a single box. The one thing Peter was unable to keep then. And the only thing Edmund didn't want to part with. That one final proof that there had been pure happiness for him once.

With a crushing sigh of bleakness he picks them up. The first one where Edmund leans out of the frame because he was still fiddling with the options, and Peter watches him tap away concentrated. The second one where, surprised by the first flash, they started laughing. The third: both of them making a stupid face. Edmund with his tongue out and Peter cross-eyed. And the last one, both of them in profile because they're laughing about themselves again. But where Edmund's whole face is distorted in amusement, Peter's has been captured in just the second where his laugh has morphed into a lazy smile, his eyes hefted fondly on his baby brother.

And now this time is gone and Peter is gone, too. So Edmund sits in that big, empty flat and thinks about Pete, his stupid, selfish, older brother and just feels his heart clench and clench around these too big feelings.

A dry sob erupts because this is all suddenly crashing down around him and he simply has no reason to hold his tears in anymore. But just as he really lets his shoulders slump there's noise at the front door, startling him. Realizing it must be the landlady, Ed quickly composes himself and thinks of an excuse for his presence. Yet, as he steps out into the hall, he doesn't come face to face with the stern woman and her roman nose, but Peter.

Peter with a stubble, who looks exhausted and mournful, who doesn't notice Ed at first, puts his keys down instead, shrugs off his coat and then- then he does, he sees him stand there, in his running gear and clutching the pictures. His eyes widen and his voice, when it comes out, is full of disbelieving joy.

“You came back.”

Edmund opens his mouth, trying for words that can't possibly form.

“I-” and then the tears do come because he loves him _so much_ and still there's nothing- _nothing_ he can do.

Peter lets his coat go instantly, it drops to the ground and then he's there, holding Edmund in his arms and tilting his head up so he can kiss away the tears. Edmund emits a hiccoughing sob, his hands clawing into the soft material over Peter's chest. And because he can't not he thinks about his family and the fact that they would never sell him out. But, should he choose Peter, they would never be a big, happy family. They would never forgive Peter, it would always be a strain between them. And should Ed go into politics someone sooner or later would find out and Peter would get prosecuted, his family get charged with neglect, perhaps even criminal facilitation. And he thinks about Caspian too, how influental he is. Peter could never find another job. No one would ever allow them to be together and if Peter can't see that, then Edmund has to be the one to protect them both.

He flattens out his palms and pushes. Peter hardly budges.

“Stop- stop it, this isn't-,” he tries feebly, smothered as he still is.

“Ed,” Peter sighs into his hair.

This time Edmund really pushes.

“This isn't what I came here for,” he says, glaring at his brother.

Peter goes still, his eyes searching Edmund's but his grip doesn't loosen.

“Did you hear what I just said? I'm not-”

Suddenly, Peter inches his face that bit closer to Edmund's neck and _sniffs._ Instinctively, Edmund's hand moves to cover his belly. Peter tracks the movement with his eyes, still so aggravatingly quiet. Apparently, Caspian had left that little detail out when he spoke to Peter. Because his head moves slowly up again and he looks at Edmund with this wondrous joy, with utter _giddiness._ Edmund slaps him.

“Don't you fucking dare be happy about this!”

But the whack achieved nothing, a huge grin breaks out over Peter's features.

“You're pregnant,” he breathes.

“Fuck you!” Edmund yells, landing hit after ineffectual hit against Peter's immovable chest. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!!!”

And suddenly Peter's eyes grow stormy and he seizes Edmund forcefully, kissing him hard. Edmund splutters against him, then tries to bite but Peter won't let him go. So Edmund uses his hands and legs, trying to get him off of him somehow. He takes a misstep and as Peter is only pushing forwards, Edmund loses his balance. They tumble down. Peter lands on him, between his legs and they grapple still. Edmund gets hold of his hair and yanks hard, Peter grunts in pain and then takes hold of Edmund's chin.

“He doesn't belong with you! I do!”

“What the hell are you talking about!” Edmund screams back, trying fruitlessly to kick at anything.

“I'm not letting them have you, I'm not giving you up!” Peter yells right in his face. It stops Edmund's struggling for a second and they look at each other, their breathing harsh.

“Go to hell,” Edmund grits out and Peter's jaw locks.

There's movement in his brother's lower body and for a moment Edmund thinks he's actually getting off but then he feels a hand yanking at his flimsy shorts. His breathing skips, heart rate doubling.

“No, don't-” his voice trembles with the realization what Peter means to do.

“I can't let you go,” Peter says rueful. “I can't- without you-”

Tears spring to Edmund's eyes. “Don't,” he begs. There's a rip and the fabric is gone.

 

Peter holds him still, with one hand around his neck, while he uses the other to get his dick out. Technically, his face, at least, is open for attack but Edmund is too shocked by what is happening to do anything else than cross his arms over his chest and cower. Silent tears running down his cheeks and to his ears. He keeps babbling too, for Peter to stop, not to do this but it falls on deaf ears.

And then Peter forces Edmund's legs up by wedging his pelvis in between and Edmund feels the wet tip of his cock. There's no preparation, nothing but alpha's precum. Edmund bucks in fear, trying to get away but Peter's hand comes down on his hip and holds him still.

He forces himself in and there's nothing but excruciating pain. He tries to hold the scream down but ultimately it rips free and he claws his fingernails deep into Peter's underarm for the least bit of alleviation.

Peter keeps thrusting incrementally. Until at some point he is deep enough that he can let go of Edmund's hip and moves his hand instead up to cradle Edmund's head. The brutal way he ruts into him, the burning stretch, the way he keeps Edmund weighed down, the coarse material of the ground chafing against Edmund's ass, make him submit enough that he stops fighting entirely. And it gets easier, too. Slick setting in, albeit it all. Still, for Edmund there's nothing but the consistent stream of tears and the steady pleas of sobbed “Don't”'s.

“Edmund,” Peter says, so afflicted and helpless in this, too. He touches their foreheads together, his thrusts slowing down for a moment.

Edmund sniffs, hoping it's over and he meets Peter's eyes when he utters his name. Only he can scarcely see through the tears and he's shivering too. But then he feels the swelling press against his opening; Peter's knot. And his face contorts into another fit of silent wailing. Peter kisses the corner of his eye. His strong hands grip the backside of Edmund's thighs, tilting his waist higher and opening him wider.

“Do-on't,” Edmund bawls convulsively.

But it's no use, Peter forces this in, too. And, yet, despite all the physical pain he's in, there's also relief growing. Because as horrifying and scary as all the consequences are, losing his family, being judged and shunned, what Edmund truly can't bear, is losing Peter.

For all that, he's grateful then for Peter's monstrousness in this.

He feels him go rigid and knows it's finally there, so he bares his neck and waits for that pain, too. For Peter to fully claim him, once and for all. The bite is harsh and it is lovely, infused with Peter's tears falling on his shoulder.

“Don't leave me,” Edmund cries, arms slung around his brother. “Don't leave me, Pete.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... baby name suggestions?


	10. le cœur du bonheur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it!  
> Thank you so much to everyone who followed this story!

“Mind the step, pumpkin,” Edmund cautions, hoisting the bag of groceries up with one hand and holding the door open with the other. 

Despite a little unsteady wobble, his son manages to get inside, then promptly races off in the direction of the kitchen. Edmund follows suit leisurely.

“Goats were yelling!” 

“Yes? And did you see some cows, too?”

“Yes, they eat grass. One cow made a poo!” Finn babbles, equal parts excited and delightedly disgusted.

Smiling, Edmund heaves the bags onto the table.

“Go on then, help your Mama sort those things away,“ Margaret laughs, “I have to concentrate. Or do you want your supper burned?”

“No!” shrieks Finn, lets go of her skirt hems and totters back to Edmund, who strokes affectionately over his head before handing him a pack of butter.

“You know where this goes?”

“Yah,” he replies and goes straight for the pantry.

“Farmer Henson asked about you again today,” Edmund mentions suggestively, unloading and stacking things.

Margaret only snorts, “Let him ask!”

“More,” Finn demands and holds his hands out. Edmund gives him four tomatoes.

“Can you hold them all?”

“Yah,” he says but walks rather carefully.

“Anything from the post office?”

“A letter from my sister. Nothing else.”

“What's she saying?”

“Haven't opened it, yet.”

“I'm hungry, Mummy.”

Both of them look down at the toddler amused.

“Well, let's see what we have,” Ed replies and heaves his son onto the table. “How about... some carrots?”

“Yes, pwease.”

Ed stores the rest of the things away, while Finn happily munches on. Once done, he hefts him back down with a strained groan.

“You're getting too big for your Mummy to carry you around, little man,” Margaret chastises mockingly to which both look equally distressed.

“Let's get out of Aunt Maggie's hair before she says any more terrible things,” Edmund ushers him towards the hall to the sound of Margaret's mean cackle.

 

In the upstairs living room Finn goes right for his toy train, while Ed makes a new pot of tea. Then finally, he settles into the couch and peruses Susan's letter.

 

_Dear Ed,_

_first of all, I hope you and everyone else is doing fine. Second of all, how is it possible that you still don't get mobile phone signals up there? Letter writing continues to be romantic in theory and utterly barbaric in pratice! Lucy and me have been saving up so many memes, we're like a popcultural archive. It's disgraceful and humiliating._

_Anyhow, just writing to let you know Arnie and me will arrive on the 18_ _th_ _, Lucy won't make it until two days later, maybe three if she decides to attend the afterparty. Mum and Dad are vacationing in Croatia right now, they probably send you a postcard though?_

_Give our little fish my love and tell him his favourite Aunt is bringing a special present for him._

_Love, Susan_

 

 

He reads it over twice, grinning the whole time. How he looks forward to these rare visits. Though still, there's also always a bittersweet element to it. Not least because of the clear undertones in the letter, the glaring absence of any mention of their older brother.

 

It's been four years since all that happened, since Peter had taken the choice from Edmund and bonded them irrevocably.

 

There were these long moments of removed disbelief. When they had simply held on and cried, for themselves, for each other. Peter had moved his head up and they regarded one another sorrowfully. Peter stroked away stray strands from Edmund's splotchy, wet face, tried to alleviate the weight of himself pressing down onto Edmund, the movement causing a stuttering hiss. Peter's knot in him, so immovable, momentous. The dull ache of the mark throbbing. But Peter's hands, too, caressing him, stroking and keeping him. His voice a murmuring reassurance and later, when they were released and he was wearing Peter's unearthed sweats, his kisses. Long, soft presses to his eyes and hands, to neck and jaw and again and again to his lips. The corner of them, his bottom lip and finally fully aligned and possessive. And Edmund, quiet the whole time and shivering, but relieved, as well. Grateful, in an underhand way. Like he shouldn't be.

“What now?” he asked eventually, toneless and drawn.

Peter told him.

 

Susan battered at him. Shrieking like a fury, who's wings had been deceitfully clipped. Accusing Peter of dastardly things. Her balled fists landed a number of hits. Peter barely tried to protect himself, Ed couldn't either, too ashamed of how he had shown up. Only when Susan's nail caught Peter's eyebrow and he actually flinched, did he grab her wrists and forced her to stop.

She cried. Ugly, fat tears, snot coming out of her nose. Lucy didn't look better, huddled into Mum's side. It was Dad, who came and took Susan, who gave Peter a last long and weary gaze and sighed, “Take whatever you need.”

Edmund was packed in less than fifteen minutes. Peter led him outside by the hand.

 

There was no thought of Caspian, at first. It was only because Ed's phone vibrated with an incoming call from him, that he made Peter drive there.

Ed went in alone.

He didn't tell him the whole of it, just enough to explain that he'd had to leave. Not why or with whom. Caspian was gravely silent, his back to him and staring out of the windows in his living-room.

“Remember how I told you I'm not a sentimentalist?” he said. 

Ed did. Clearly recalled how Caspian had smirked amused when Edmund brought up love. He had that same smirk then, infused with something other than amusement, though.

“I never expected that to change. Let alone so drastically.”

When he turned around, he met Edmund's gaze.

“I don't know you long enough or well enough to call this 'love' but...,” his shoulders heaved once, “You are the reason why I want that now. To marry someone, who is wholly mine long before we'd ever get mated.”

Edmund swallowed.

“I wished that to be you,” he continued. “But I'm not surprised that it's not.”

“I'm sorry, Caspian,” Ed finally uttered.

There was at least something akin to understanding in his expression.

“Goodbye, Edmund.”

But then before he could actually leave, Caspian, and he  _couldn't_ have  known _,_ said, “Give Peter my regards.”

 

Back in the car, it was Edmund who grabbed Peter by his shirt and brought them together. Of course, Peter kissed back just as hard. Then Edmund seized his hand and put it to his belly. Their harsh breaths mingling, he demanded, “Now fix this.”

 

It was an eight hour car ride. Edmund slept through most of it. And although, it was quite dim by the time they arrived, he distinctly remembers Uncle Digory's expression when he realized Peter hadn't come alone.

They were ushered inside, had a meagre meal – not due to restricted options but because of a non-existent appetite. Mrs. Macready then showed them to their room (it would be until his water unexpectedly broke in the middle of a storm, with Uncle Digory immobilized by a clinched ankle and Peter, torn and panicked, having to drive thirty minutes to the next town for the doctor, and she had to step in as a midwife, that he would start calling her by her first name).

Peter and him made love. Still sorrowful and exhausted. But they had nothing else for comfort. And it was only when Peter's knot slotted inside again and Edmund came, that the tight wound lump inside him began to unfurl and made way for a quiet, simmering ease of pain, the slightest bit of contentment.

 

There were quite a few things to figure out. Peter had intended to become Uncle Digory's research assisstant, which meant several trips a month for guest lectures or conferences, weeks at a time for educational trips and excursions to research sites all over the world.

Edmund's condition, as well as them being newly bonded, made these prospects a point of agitation and anxiety. They were adamant not to burden their benevolent granter of refuge, though. But Uncle Digory only smiled pleasantly at them over breakfast the next morning, unfolded his newspaper and muttered, “I had meant to write a new book, anyway.”

This way Peter still assissted him and for a bit over a year never strayed farther from Edmund than for a trip to the post office to collect a new order of books for their uncle.

Edmund's own education was put on hold for the remainder of the semester, then he enrolled for distance learning.

 

Now, four years later with his freshly received degree, a small toddler on his hip and, stroking his belly, more underway, he has no idea how to go about finding a job. Or if he even should. Peter was strangely suited to academia and, Ed knew, enjoyed working with Uncle Digory tremendously. But Edmund had also stayed in contact with Aravis all these years (Peter and him had attended her wedding to Cor last autumn). And she's been constantly nagging him to return to London so she could employ him properly. The way it was now, she already send him some occasional consulting work that he could manage fine in the evenings but the exchange of files certainly was a pain in the ass.

 

Although, it took some getting used to being so cut off from the internet and modern world, both Peter and Ed began cherishing that circumstance and indeed grew quite fond of it. Secretly, Edmund loathed the thought of ever having to return to bustling, always busy London.

Here, he had Finn and Maggie, Uncle Digory, two other omegas with their first children (though granted both Marylin and Eugene were easily ten years older than Edmund) and everyone else from the village, wary of the newcomers at first but quickly happy to lend a hand and share a nice ale at the local pub.

 

Most importantly though, he has Peter. With his cowlicks, his dimples, and old man mood in the mornings. He exchanged sharp suits for wooly sweaters, designer shoes for wellies, yet still kept his goddamn aftershave and has a standing appointment with the barber every three weeks. Edmund's seen him covered with vomit, stinking like cow dung, napping in the middle of the day with a freshly swaddled Finn rising up and down on his breathing chest. He's seen him naked an indecent amount of time and yet always wants more. Peter is lavish with his kisses and excessive with affections, he has a thrilling insatiability pertaining to everything Edmund, which would cause them to spend innumerable hours in bed, if it weren't for their hyperactive little fish. But Edmund is happy. Despite the fact that for a long time he felt he wasn't allowed, that every one of his smiles and Peter's laughs was only on borrowed time. He knows better now.

 

“When Papa comes home?” Finn asks, holding his arms out so Edmund may pull him up to the sofa with him.

“I don't know. I'm sure he'll be back soon.”

Yawning a little, his son buries himself into Edmund's arms. One tiny hand gliding over Ed's belly.

“I miss him.”

This forces a small, sad smile from him. Pete's been gone for two months this time. The last they've heard from him was a postcard a week ago.

Edmund leans down to plant a kiss on the silky, blond hair.

“Me too, pumpkin.”

 

He wakes to the sensation of a trickling, liquid honey-warmth. Eyes shooting open, he locates his child and stops short of screeching.

“Off the couch! Finn, get off the couch!”

Startling him awake like that, while yanking him up, only results in a spooked grimace that quickly morphs to fitful wailing. The whole time, the pee keeps flowing, staining his pants and then puddling on the parquet.

Edmund watches this with a disoriented sigh. Part of his sleeve, as well as his pants and shirt hem are wet, too. Then, with Finn holding his hands up and obviously feeling queasy in his ruined clothes, Edmund starts laughing. An uncontrollable cackle errupting. Which confuses Finn slightly and then prompts an unsure laugh from him, too.

“I'm sorry for scaring you, baby,” Ed says and wipes at his own tears. “But I was so surprised. Come on, come here.” With that he pulls him up onto his hip. “My big boy. Let's get you cleaned up.”

As they walk down the hall, Margaret calls up to them.

“Is everything alright?”

“Little mishap, is all.”

She stands at the foot of the stairs, hands stemmed into her hips. Fearing chastisement or probably even ridicule Finn's lower lip starts wobbling again under her scrutiny.

“Ah now, now, young man, tears won't help there,” she says instead. “A good bath is what you need.”

Coming down, Ed sets Finn back on his feet.

“Would you mind?” he asks Margaret, “I need to mop that up before it seeps into the floor permanently.”

“The dough for the bread needs to rise anyway, doesn't it?” she already says more to Finn than Ed and leads him to the baths.

Ed jogs back up.

 

In the washkitchen he gets out the mop, then feels the cloth sticking to him and in short takes them all off until he's down to his underpants. Then he hurries back to the living-room and throws the wipe down.

He's almost got it all dry again when suddenly behind him there's noise. Not expecting them to be done with the bath already, he whips around and sees-

“Peter!”

His bag slips from his shoulder and in the next instant his arms are full of Edmund.

“How are you here? Why didn't you write?”

Peter's eyes crinkle as he tries to capture his giddily squirming brother in a kiss.

“We got done early and I did. I expect the letter'll arrive in a couple of days. Now come here, you.”

With that he bestowed the softest, lingering press of lips onto Edmund's mouth. He takes a moment, afterwards, before opening his eyes again.

“I missed you,” Ed breathes out.

The smile grows and grows.

“I missed you, too. God, I missed you like crazy.”

He touches their foreheads together and just as Edmund is still bathing in the mellow content of this unexpected reunion, he also sees Peter's eyes wander down to his belly. And his pupils blowing.

“Where's our little fish?”

“Maggie's giving him a bath.”

Peter grins.

“Perfect.”

And just like that the world slants and Peter has him lifted up. Surprised, Edmund brings his legs around Peter's waist and, laughing, holds on as he wastes no time getting to the bedroom.

 

“How are you so big already?” he marvels, gently depositing Edmund on the mattress and roaming his hands over the prominent swell. “You were scarcely showing when I left.”

“They do say the bump develops faster after the first pregnancy,” his voice as his body adopting a shiver. “Could also be the fact that we're having twins, though.”

Peter's hands stop, jaw going slack.

“Twins?”

“Yeah,” Edmund says with a breathy laugh, his hands winding into Peter's well loved, wind-dishevelled hair. “Dr. Rahl confirmed it last week. I wanted to surprise you.”

“You... I'm gonna need a second job,” Peter declares, “You're gonna eat me out of house and home.”

“I'm not that bad!” Edmund protests.

“Are you kidding me? Maggie and I had to make you four full meals a day and even then you kept pinching biscuits all the time!”

“I'm afraid I can't recall a thing. All that comes back to me is the constant puking and swollen feet I had to endure from carrying _your_ child.”

Peter leans down then and gives him a little nip to the chin.

“ _Our_ child,” he corrects and, stroking over the sizable belly, adds, “Our child _ren._ ”

“I'm going to get incredibly fat, aren't I?” Ed sighs.

Peter smirks, sitting back on his haunches and pulling his shirt off, displaying his awful, shitty abs that Edmund definitely  _hates._

“Yes and I can hardly wait,” Peter murmurs, letting all his warmth and weight come down on Edmund.

“You're a perverted, old man,” he accuses long-suffering and gets promptly smothered by smooches.

 

Then Peter finds his nipples and Edmund lets out a shuddery moan. Peter grins. And immediately twists harder.

“Pe- Peter,” Ed whines, his back arching.

“I should have you like this all the time,” he says, mouthing along Edmund's jaw and neck. “Plump, willing, _swollen._ Heavy with my child. One suckling on your tits, while the next is already making you round again.”

Throwing his head to the side, Edmund claws his hands into Peter's hair.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?” he teases and then devastatingly descends on Edmund's sensitive nub. His tongue swirling, his teeth grazing so maddeningly. He presses his erection upwards into Peter's belly, noticing the wet patch uncomfortably and yet so aggravating. How is it that Peter can reduce him so just with his mouth and those infernal words that come out of it?

“Eager, are we?” he teases.

When Edmund buries his fingers into Peter's scalp, forcing him to meet his gaze, he makes sure there's pain, before saying, “ _Yes._ ”

But then his face contorts just as swiftly back into helplessly turned on because Peter shoved two fingers straight into his hole, the cotton of his stretched pants putting delicious pressure on his leaking cock.

“Sopping fucking _wet,”_ Peter remarks, almost chastising. “Whatever have you done without me this whole time?”

“Suffered,” Edmund grits out frustrated.

Peter chuckles at him and, pressing a compensatory kiss to his chest, says, “My poor Ed.”

Not prone to just lay back and accept it whenever Peter is dawdling along, Edmund's hands snap down and yank Peter up and close by his belt loops, grinding their clothed cocks together.

“I think the adjective you're looking for is 'hard'.”

In retaliation he gets a cruel pinch to his nipple.

“You, my dear, are in thorough need of some sweet, sweet kisses,” he states authoritatively and plunges forward. Edmund barely fends him off, though he still giggles.

“How about you provide me with some thorough fucking first?”

Peter steals a last kiss, then boops their noses together and assents.

“As you wish, my naughty husband.”

Edmund swats him but Peter dodges and finally pulls off Edmund's underwear. Then gets rid off his own things.

“Now come here, you,” he commands and pulls Edmund by his hips. Instead of aligning them, he positions them so that Edmund is almost bend in half and Peter has the easiest access in the world to his dripping hole. Still, he reaches one hand around and touches it lightly onto Edmund's swell.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Edmund says, albeit a little short of breath.

Peter's hand moves upward, teasingly over the crown of Ed's cock, the slit emanating a fresh drop of pearly white liquid that he immediately scoops up and drags down the shaft until he gets to Edmund's balls. All the while he holds him up with a tight lock around his thigh. Then finally, when Ed is already constricting his lungs and abdominal muscles in order to remain calm and his fingers are clawed into the bedsheets, Peter blows over his hole. Edmund lets out the most pitiful whine, his legs spreading under the effort of enticing Peter forward.

There's a soft bite to the fleshy part of his thigh, then a conciliatory tongue and a hum as Peter, oh so ghastly, works his dilligent way to where Edmund actually needs him. It's such a torturous stimulus and he is so helpless in this position that he just keeps producing slick and before long he feels it slide into his crack.

With a broad stroke Peter licks it back up. Edmund feels his hole clench and pulse. God, he is so wet. As Peter continues to lap and suck at him, Edmund keeps scrabbling for purchase on the sheets. Peter holds him so tightly, so mercilessly open and inserts finger after finger.

“M-more, Peter,” Ed begs, close to tears.

Instead of unwinding them, Peter starts jerking him off, too, forcing an orgasm that Ed had hoped to stave off for a while longer. Spunk hitting his belly and chest, Edmund screams through his release.

Still panting, Peter doesn't grant him a second of rest, lowers his waist onto his lap and pulls the limp Edmund up by his arms, so he ends more or less seated on Peter.

“Hold on,” he orders and, quite overpowered, Edmund glides his arms lax around his brother's neck.

Then Peter lifts him the tiniest bit – Ed feels the cockhead nudge his entrance – and sinks him back and onto his cock. Peter groans satisfied into his ear, Ed scarcely has the energy for a mewl, no matter how good and perfect and wonderful this always feels.

“I hope you don't expect me to actually do any of the work,” he mutters feebly.

Peter kisses him right beneath his eye.

“And here I was looking forward to see your big belly swinging as I had you bouncing on my dick.”

Fuck, Edmund thinks, a spike of arousal shooting through him.

“You're terrible,” he mumbles instead, clenching his hole viciously.

“And you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” he whispers back, earnest and fond.

Edmund can't help it. He blushes.

But the adjustment period for Peter and the recovery period for Edmund is apparently over because Peter grabs him firmly by the ass and holds him minimally up so he can fuck up into him.

Edmund's hold around him strengthens and he buries his face into his neck.

“Feels so good,” he murmurs breathless but that breaks off into a harsh moan because Peter unsurprisingly found his prostate. And then decides to really piston into him. There's sweat forming all over him from the exertion.

“Do you remember-” he starts, interrupted by a groan, “when we all used to pretend to be Kings and Queens?”

There's no way Edmund has the mind to answer that, so he doesn't even try.

“What would our subjects say? Having their King pregnant but no one would know by whom?”

“They'd think I'm a whore,” Edmund replies, Peter's cock swelling discernibly and bumping consistently against his stretched rim. “No one would suspect you.”

“Our little secret,” Peter grunted.

“You'd do that to me?” Edmund wonders faux-innocent, arousal regaining its strength. “Sneak into my bed, force my legs apart and mount me over and over until my womb was full with your seed and you were sure you'd gotten what you wanted? Got your little brother pregnant?”

“Fuck, Ed,” with a last shout his hands bury themselves into Edmund's pliant flesh, his knot forcing itself in and slotting them together. Ed imagines the way the come shoots into him, a warmth spreading out in his insides. In this moment he was willing to bear Peter an irresponsible amount of babes, just to stay and feel this connected forever.

Peter keeps breathing him in a moment longer, both their ribcages heaving, then carefully he lowers them both on their sides as not to inconvience Edmund and his bump too greatly.

“You really are a depraved and sinful man,” Ed remarks then, eyes closed and already sleepy.

Peter laughs lightly, pressing a kiss to his husband's sweaty forehead.

“You do have that effect on me.”

 

Later, when they will be able to disentangle from each other and Peter is halfway to being decent and dressed again, their bedroom door will open and a freshly washed and always hyper toddler will come running in. Peter will haul him up and throw him into the air before cuddling him close and pressing, to Finn, very annoying, kisses all over his face.

Edmund will take a moment longer to get dressed, opting for a quick shower even. So he and Peter, too, will exchange a lingering press of lips before his husband and child will already go ahead downstairs.

Once Edmund will be done and rejoin the others, they will have a lovely supper with exciting stories. Finn will undoubtedly spill something, Maggie will fret about the state of him, the house, the economy, the whole of England and Peter would be holding his hand under the table, granting him an easy smile full of love and affection.

Edmund will still be sad from time to time about the fact that he doesn't see his family very often and that he misses so many important things in their life and they in his but he's found his happiness after all and, squeezing his husband's hand, it is a good one.

 


End file.
